


Honor and Blood - Part I.

by conaionaru



Series: Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless) [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Choking (Non-Sexual), Fluff, Low Self-Esteem, Mentions of Rape, Misogyny, Pregnancy, looong story, toxic family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 63,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28359123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conaionaru/pseuds/conaionaru
Summary: The Saxon princess Vanya is forced by her family to marry Ivar as a peace offering. She slowly turns from a meek girl to a confident woman and falls for him.
Relationships: Ivar (Vikings)/Original Character(s), Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076861
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	1. Blessed are the meek

A woman has to serve the men in her life. First, her father, and then her husband. A sad reality. To be seen as nothing more than a womb. You are born and raised to obey. What they say is the law and must be followed. Your father chooses who you marry and whose children you will bear.

Her mother called it God’s will. Her brother called it a political sacrifice. Vanya herself would call it torture. She was being married off to the highest bidder, like cattle.

After her father died three years ago, her brother Silas became King. Their kingdom was small, and Silas had no idea how to rule a country. So the council ruled instead. And they choose to make peace with the Vikings who threatened to attack them.

And so she is to be married to a Viking prince as a promise. The Vikings will get her and gold and silver in exchange for peace. It was the right thing to do. To accept her fate and do as said to protect her people. But still, it hurt her. To marry because Silas or the council commands her to do so. Not out of love, but out of duty.

She hated him for making her marry some stranger on the other side of the world—a heathen. She heard the stories they told about Vikings and how they murder and rape for their gods. She feared the day they would ship her off towards Scandinavia and make her marry some prince with no name to himself yet.

Silas said he chose her, a husband he knew would fit her. He did not mention his name. Or how her future husband looked. Vanya hated her brother for that. And he hated her. That’s why he offered her a price. To get rid of her. Their father loved her. She was his sweet, cheerful child, while Silas was the bitter attention seeker.

She prayed to God; her husband would be kind and loved her with all his heart that their children would be born out of love. She hoped God heard her desperate prayer.

“Princess? The ships are ready.” A voice called from behind her. She has been staring out of the window the whole day. Willing the sea to be too wild to sail on, but it did not work.

Vanya turned around, clutching the cross around her neck tighter. The servant in front of her looked at her with pity. And Vanya hated that look so much. Everybody looked at her with pity like it would change anything.

“My lady, you should change before you leave. I heard it is very cold there.” The servant girl tried once again. Vanya only nodded and pulled a weak smile before letting the girl redress her.

“Are the Vikings here too?” She asked softly, looking out of the window to catch a glimpse of the fearless warriors from the cold lands.

The smaller girl shook her head in agreement and tightened her dress. “A few ships. I heard Bjorn is on one of them. He is to ensure you make it to their land.”

Bjorn. Bjorn Ironside, who made the pact with her brother. Her husband’s brother. She saw the man himself twice. He always stood tall and intimidated her. He was huge. And scary. She saw the man only twice. Once when he and his warriors attacked their kingdom and the second time when Silas announced that she would marry Bjorn’s brother.

As soon as the servant dressed, Vanya did Silas barge in, smirking like he won a game; she had no idea they are playing. “Dear sister, you finally look like a proper lady. It’s time to go, come.”

Vanya looked at him with pleading eyes, her lower lip trembling. “Please, Silas, don’t send me away. I promise I will listen. I won’t disobey you anymore. Please, they will hurt me, rape me, kill me. Please don’t make me go.” He always wanted her to beg. Maybe he would show mercy if she did it now.

Her only answer was an angry snarl as her older brother charged towards her like a mad bull. His large hand wrapped around her thin neck and squeezed, making her gasp for breath. “I forgave you every snide remark, every scowl, every time you didn’t behave like you were supposed to. Mother doesn’t care what would happen to you, but I let you live in my castle in my kingdom instead of throwing you to the pigs in the barn. I have shown you nothing but mercy and forgiveness. And now, all I ask of you is to do as I command, to marry a savage for the good of this kingdom of these people. And yet you disobey me again. You will renounce your faith, marry the man I chose for you and birth his children. I chose a man I knew would fit you perfectly. So be thankful.”

He dropped her to the ground and wiped his hand on his clothes. As if his hand got filthy by touching her. Meanwhile, Vanya kneeled on the ground, holding her tender neck while gasping for breath and crying. She felt like an animal beat by her master for misbehaving. “You will do as I say. Or I will let the heathen army have their way with you in the middle of the streets.” Silas spat at her, making her flinch in fear.

A knock interrupted his anger and her sobs as a woman walked into the room, looking bored. Her waist-long ginger hair is up in a complicated braid as a crown rests on top of her head. Her golden dress drags behind her on the ground as she nears her children. She freezes in her steps when her eye meets her daughter’s tear-filled ones. “Mother. How lovely for you to see us. What’s the occasion?”

The Queen Mother only held up a blue pearl necklace raising one perfect eyebrow at her son. “I wanted Vanya to catch the prince’s eye. I found my engagement necklace and thought it would look breathtaking with her dress. I should also do her hair differently.” Silas nodded and left the two women to their jewelry and hair. When the door behind him closed, the Queen walked to the mirror and picked up a brush, mentioning that Vanya should sit on the chair. The Princess picked herself up and slowly walked towards the chair, looking at her red eyes and bruised neck in the mirror.

The Queen brushed her hair and caught her daughter’s eyes in the mirror. “Why do you always talk back, Vanya. It always ends badly for you.”

Vanya drew in a shaky breath, on the verge of breaking down once again. “Mother. Please make him reconsider-”

“Don’t Mother me! Silas made his choice. And you should listen to that choice. He is your brother, your King. Be smart, Vanya. How many times how I told you, love? Blessed are the meek.” Vanya hiccuped and looked back at her mother, begging with her eyes.

“They will hurt me.” She tried again, hoping to get some sympathy from her mother—anything to make her try to change her brother’s mind. “They are savages. I don’t want to marry a man I don’t know. I want to love my husband. I want his children born out of love, not out of duty. I will never love that man.”

The ginger queen scoffed and rolled her eyes at that. “Stop dreaming, child. You are of royal blood. Love was never an opinion. You don’t have to love that man. All you have to do is stand by his side, smiling and carry and raise his children. You never have to love him. Only love your children. It that you will have no choice.”

Vanya looked back at the mirror, not being able to look at her mother any longer. “Did you never love father? He was always so nice.” The older woman shook her head and braided her daughter’s ginger hair.

“He was a good King. But a terrible husband. He was kind to you two, but not me. I once believed that I loved him. And he took my love and bedded another woman. I can’t fancy a man like that. I just have to look the part, as do you. Use your looks to charm the man, and he won’t hurt you. Give him sons, and he will protect you. Become important, irreplaceable. And you will survive.” She whispered, fixing her necklace around her daughter’s neck.

Vanya nodded her head, knowing the fight was lost. Her last hope was that her ship would sink, and she would drown before her wedding. But the Princess doubted the ships would fail now if they survived this long. The Queen stepped away from Vanya and put her hands on her shoulders when she stood up. “Blessed are the meek, Vanya. Remember that. A silent wife is a good one. Just look at the ceiling and think about something pretty. It will be over before you know it.”

She took Vanya’s hand and led her to the door and down the halls. The young redhead watched her step, thinking of the pretty places her mother mentioned—the bottom of the sea, the graveyard, Hell. When they reached the shore, Vanya was sure she entered Hell. The savages looked at her with hungry eyes while Bjorn stood tall next to Silas, who grinned happily to see her. “May God look after you even in the cold lands.” He told her, gripping her face in his hands. It may have looked innocent to the soldiers and heathens. But the royal family knew better. It was a warning. Behave!

Vanya nodded before Bjorn helped her on the boat and ordered the warriors to set sail. She watched her home get farther and farther away. The smaller Silas and her mother got, the weirder she felt. She hated her family, but she feared what awaited her on the other end of the journey.

“We will arrive in Kattegat in five days. Aslaug is planning the wedding a week after that.” Bjorn informed Vanya standing next to her, looking at the small kingdom they are leaving.

“What is he like? My husband, to be?”

“Ivar’s… complicated.” Well, that’s helpful. At least now she knows his name. Ivar.


	2. A husband that fits you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya arrives at Kattegat and meets her husband to be. She learns what Silas meant when he said he found her “a husband that fits her.”

One thing Vanya learned during the journey to Kattegat was that she loves the sea. The splashing of the waves, the partial silence. It was so different from what she was used to, and she liked it. Another thing is that Bjorn isn’t as scary as she thought. He seems fine for a “filthy and bloodthirsty savage” - like everybody calls them.

Also, Scandinavia is cold. She already put on a cloak to keep her warm, but she is still shaking. If it is nerves or the cold, she has no idea. Hopefully, it’s from the cold. Freezing to death seems like an excellent alternative to marrying Ivar. Bjorn told her a few things; he said that his younger half brother has a temper. Otherwise, he seemed reluctant to share anything about him. He also watched her like a hawk whenever she stood too near to the edge of the ship. As if she would fall in or jump.

The days passed too fast for her liking. Today they would arrive in Kattegat. She can already see the land and its people getting ready to greet them. The nearer they got, the more she shook in her seat. It scared her to think about her husband. He was young and temperamental. Silas’s words kept haunting her: “I chose a man I knew would fit you perfectly.” Who knows what kind of monster Ivar is.

“We are nearly there.” Bjorn’s voice drew her from her thoughts. Vanya looked at the man before her and nodded. She knew. Of course, Vanya knew. She took a deep breath and stood up, looking at the people awaiting her arrival. One of them is her husband. A lot of them are very handsome and tall. That is a good sign. What would be the odds that Ivars any different?

The ship hit the shore, and Bjorn helped Vanya get off when a woman with three men walked forward. She held her head high and was stunning. And the young men by her side were handsome too. “Welcome to Kattegat, Princess Vanya. We are happy to have you here.”

Vanya bowed before the royal family and smiled a timid smile. “It is a pleasure to be here, Queen Aslaug.”

The pretty Queen smiled back at her and mentioned to the men by her side. “My sons, Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd.” All three smiled at her, but she didn’t have the energy to smile back. Where was Ivar? “And, of course, Ivar.” She said, mentioning to somebody by Ubbe’s side. Vanya looked towards the direction Aslaug pointed and froze. Her husband to be was dragging himself over the ground. Silas chose her a cripple as a husband.

She ignored her thoughts and bowed before him, as well. “Nice to meet you. My name is Vanya.” She smiled the most dashing smile she could. Mother always said smiling is very important when meeting someone. It makes a good impression.

Ivar only scoffed and raised an eyebrow at her. “I know who you are.” He said, rolling his eyes, making her pause.

“Ivar.” Warned Aslaug before leading Vanya to the Great hall. Mother said to walk beside her husband, but that was very hard when he dragged himself behind them, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. Instead, she walked with the Queen, who kept asking her questions. "How do you like Kattegat so far? How was the journey?“ She answered them only not to be rude.

But, all she could think about was that it finally made sense what Silas meant. "A husband that would fit her.” A man who dragged himself through the dirt perfectly fits a princess who belongs to the animals. The great hall was huge and filled with food and servants who filled their cups the moment they sat down. Aslaug sat a the head of the table with Ivar on her left. Next to him sat Vanya with Hvitserk on her other side. In front of her sat Ubbe with Sigurd on his left and Bjorn on Aslaugs right. They all talked between them while Vanya listened to their strange language. She had no idea what was being said, and it frustrated her. She knew nothing of the people she will live with from now on. She was sent in blind and deaf.

“So, Princess. How do you like Ivar?” Sigurd suddenly asked, making everybody stop. Vanya looked at the ginger Viking and blink. She did expect that question. Ivar, on the hand, just glared at him.

“I do not know him that well to judge just yet.” She tried hoping he would drop the topic.

But obviously, the prince had no intention to help her. “What of his looks?” He was digging for an answer, and she knew it.

“Sigurd,” Aslaug warned, fixing her son with a look that said the man ignored.

“He should know what she thinks of him if he is to marry her. You said so yourself, mother. So go on, Princess. What do you think of my brother?”

Vanya fidgeted, praying for the ground to swallow her whole. She didn’t want to offend anybody, especially Ivar. “He is very handsome.” She said, smiling softly before sipping on her drink. The answer seemed to satisfy Ivar if his smug look was anything to go by.

“And what of his legs?” Vanya choked on her drink the moment the words left Sigurds lips. Ivar tightened his grip on the knife and growled lowly. Ubbe tried to calm the two brothers down, but it was to no avail. “You must have an opinion on them if you choose him.”

Vanya swallowed and looked at the daring savage. “My brother choose my husband. I didn’t even know his name till Bjorn told me. But I do not care.” This made Ivar pause in his anger.

Sigurd raised an eyebrow at her and frowned. “Really? Don’t you care that your husband is a cripple? That you will be known as the wife of Ivar the Boneless?”

Vanya shook her head and looked at the fuming man from the corner of her eye. “No. His looks or disability are not necessary. It’s what’s on the inside that counts. I care more for somebody’s heart than somebody’s appearance.”

“Well, then I am sorry to tell you that Ivar has no heart.” Sigurd laughed, making Ivar launch himself over the table at him only for Hvitserk and Ubbe to hold him back as Aslaug scolded Sigurd in their native language. Vanya frowned at that. The brothers managed to calm down Ivar, but he still looked like he was planning his brother’s murder. Vanya could not blame him. Sigurd angered her too.

Maybe that’s why she wanted him to get a taste of his own medicine. “My people say none of you have hearts. So I guess I shall judge for myself if it is true or not. I also don’t think you should be so mean.”

The Queen and the five princes looked at her in surprise. Sigurd licked his lips and smile at her. “And why is that?”

“I don’t think you have a right to judge him if your eye looks like that of a snake. It is not fair.” She answered, cursing herself the moment it left her lips. She must have gone mad during the journey. She will die before her wedding, for sure. Her thoughts of death were interrupted by Ivar chuckling with a smug look on his face. Ubbe and Sigurd also looked amused, which she did not expect.

“She fits you, Ivar. She also got a sharp tongue.” Ubbe teased, making her blush. At least she would not die. Yet.

The feast continued as Aslaug talked to her about the wedding and the ceremonies involved. The sacrifice scared her, especially when Ivar mentioned that he wanted a human sacrifice instead of a goat. But luckily, Ubbe talked him out of it. “The Princess is already pale now. If she sees a human sacrifice, she might faint before the wedding, Ivar.” So Ivar agreed to kill a goat instead, but only if the goat is perfect. Aslaug reassured him she would see to it, to which Sigurd scoffed but didn’t say anything else.

After the feast was over, Vanya was happy to retreat to her room and calm herself down. The Queen told her that the place was only temporary before the wedding, as she would move in with Ivar afterward. That isn’t precisely what Vanya wanted to hear before she went to bed. The reality of the fact that she isn’t a guest came crashing down at her.

The ginger princess ignored the feeling of being trapped in a foreign place with strangers. A blonde thrall helped her undress and change into a nightgown. The girl also unbraided her hair and took off her necklace. She didn’t understand English, which Vanya regretted. She hoped to find out more about Ivar from her. But all she knows is that the girl’s name is Margrethe.

From what she saw at the feast, Sigurd and Ivar hate each other; Ivar is impulsive and has a bad temper. The only person she knew that has a bad temper is Silas. And he usually just plans executions when he is angered. Or humiliates you. She hopes Ivar is different. Otherwise, she is marrying her brother in somebody else’s body, which is worrisome and messed up.

It makes sense why Bjorn only said that Ivar’s complicated. The word complicated not only fits him but also hides who Ivar is. Or maybe he is different. She hopes he is different for her sanity and survival. It would be too much of a cruel joke to have escaped the monsters of her family only to marry another monster.

Margrethe left after her job was done, leaving Vanya to think. So she sat down on her bed and looked at the ceiling. That is until somebody knocked on her door.


	3. Of monsters and maidens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody visits Vanya’s room late at night and bonds with her.

Not thinking much of the late-night visitor, Vanya called the person in. What she did not expect was the reason behind her troubles standing behind the door. Ivar came into her room without an explanation and looked at her like a predator stalking his prey.

“My Prince-”

“It’s Ivar. We are to be married soon; you should call me by my name, Vanya.” The man cut her off slowly, crawling towards her. She quickly sprung from her bed and walked back towards the wall behind her.

Ivar only rolled his eyes at her and made his way to the two chairs by the fire instead. He pulled himself up and looked at her over his shoulder.

“Come join me. I wish to talk.” She slowly walked to the other chair, cautious of his intentions. But Ivar ignored her hesitancy and pulled his legs into a more comfortable position. She was too busy watching him that she didn’t notice she already reached the chair. Vanya hit her foot and knee against the hardwood. She winced in pain, making Ivar chuckle.

“As entertaining as it is to watch, as you hurt yourself, be quieter while doing it. I am not supposed to be here.” He informed her, observing the way she moved. She was clumsy, shy, reserved. It was annoying.

But his answer surprised Vanya. “Why are you here then, My Pri-Ivar.”

The man only rolled his eyes again and looked at her with a deadpan expression on his face. “I said I want to talk to you. Or do you think I came to speak to the furniture?”

Vanya shook her head frantically, hoping that he wouldn’t get angry at her for her ignorance. “I am sorry. What do you wish to talk about?”

Ivar let out a breath in frustration and divided his attention from the burning fire that Margrethe build. He kept watching her with his shining blue eyes like he was looking for something. It made her uneasy, mostly because she couldn’t help but look back at him. He indeed was handsome.

“Today, you said that you didn’t know my name until Bjorn told you. Did your brother not tell you anything?” He kept looking at her like she was a complicated battle strategy he had to come up with.

“No. Silas is not very… Talkative. We don’t get along that much.” The ginger princess explained, playing with her fingers. A bad habit she couldn’t get did off, no matter how many times Silas hit her for it.

Ivar scoffed and looked away from her. “You do not get along with my brother that much, either.”

Vanya blushed, trying to think of an answer that would make the unpredictable man happy. “I am sorry. I didn’t like how he talked about you. I will try to be nicer to him.”

“Don’t bother; I don’t like Sigurd either. Nobody does.” She nodded at his answer. At least they had something in common. She flinched when his large hand reached out to her face. Instead of hitting her, did he trail his fingers over her neck.

The bruise that Silas left behind from choking her was now faded and yellow. Barely visible. But what shocked her was the gentleness behind his touch. “But if my brother touched me like this, I would kill him.”

“I am not a Viking. I would for before I could lay a hand on him.” It hurt to admit. She was weak. Because that’s what women are supposed to be. Submissive. But she saw female warriors on Bjorn’s ship and in Kattegat. The women here we’re anything but weak and ladylike. She liked it. It was so different from home.

“Do you want to be?” Ivar’s question startled her. What did he mean? He saw her confused face and explained while waving his hand around. “Be a shieldmaiden. Do you want to learn how to fight?”

Did she? It sounded exciting. But she was in no way build to fight. She was small with thin arms. How could she be a warrior?

“I could teach you. You don’t have to. I would protect you, anyway. Mother says a husband defends his wife.” Vanya looked at him, surprised.

She nervously shifted in her seat. Ivar’s piercing gaze made her sweat in fear. She felt like prey with that the predator keeps playing around. “I am sorry. I don’t think fighting is for me.”

“What do you do then?” Now that’s a good question. She watched clouds pass by from her window, she dreamed of her father and prayed to God. Nothing exciting to tell a man like Ivar.

“I sew.” She did. Mostly because it was a woman’s job, she was very good with a needle. She only stabs her finger now when she is distracted. So at least once during her needlework.

“You sew? How boring is that?” Ivar sneered, bored with the topic. The young Princess frowned sadly; she liked sewing. Silas left her alone when she did it. Mother looked at her works proudly. It made her feel loved to be praised. But savages don’t care for such simple things.

“I am sorry, Ivar. I don’t do many things.” There she went destroying everything like always did with her stupid mind and mouth. But Ivar looked at her strangely and then shook his head.

“Stop saying sorry. It’s annoying. You are to be a Viking. Only Christians have anything to be sorry for. You won won’t be a Christian anymore. Do whatever you like. I don’t care.”

“And what do you do?” Maybe if she humored him, he would be nice. Silas was pleasant when he talked about himself. Vanya is pretty sure he just likes the sound of his voice.

“I hunt with my brothers.” This is surprising. She didn’t think he would do such things with his condition. But he looks strong. Maybe he is an excellent hunter despite not being able to run after the prey.

Ivar kept watching her. It is obvious he wants to ask her something. Vanya didn’t have the guts to call him out on it, and he didn’t ask. “Do you really not care about my legs?” So that’s what eating him up?

Vanya swallowed and thought about her next words. She feared what he would do if he didn’t like the answer. “It surprised me when I saw you. But it doesn’t bother me. At least, I think it doesn’t. Does it bother you?”

“Of course, it bothers me. I am a cripple. It makes me angry that I am not like my brothers. And yet I am to marry you.” Ivar seethed, waving his hand around, glaring at everything like it personally offended him. 

What was she supposed to say about that? Should she try to be nice? Or stay silent? “Stop that.” He hissed at her making her flinch. “You keep thinking about what to say to me. I will not strike you, so say what you want to.”

Vanya looked at him with scared eyes. it felt like a trap to her. “I can’t say what I think, My Pri-Ivar." 

The heathen only raised an eyebrow at her and shifted in his seat. He put both of his arms on the armrest and leaned towards her. "Is it that bad that you think I would kill you for it? Be honest. You are to be my wife. So say what you must.”

Her hands shook because of her nerves. Speaking out of line always meant punishment back home. But she isn’t home anymore. She is in a foreign place with a stranger that she had to marry in a week. If he kills her before, it wouldn’t be that bad. She did prey to die on the sea. Maybe she is meant to die here instead. “Your legs make you different. But not everything different is wrong. I won’t say that they don’t matter because they do. But if you can’t walk maybe, you can do other things your brothers can’t.”

“Explain.” She had is attention. If that was good or bad, the Princess wasn’t sure. 

So instead, she took another deep breath and looked him right in the eye. They are captivating. “When I was a child, my father had a dog. When he got old, he could no longer see. Silas wanted him killed, but his father refused. He said that if he can’t see, then he can smell better. And my father was right. He was a better hunting dog than any of the other ones. He could track things the other dogs couldn’t because he was different.”

“So you see me like a dog? Is that what I am to you?” Ivar questioned, but he wasn’t angry. He looked amused, which meant he liked her answer.

Vanya shook her head from side to side. But Ivar only chuckled, dismissing her concern, saying he was joking. “If you are to be my wife… I should know what you think. And you don’t think any less of me than you do of any other Viking. You detest us all the same way.”

“That’s not true. I don’t hate any of you. I am not happy that I was sent away.” Ivar’s hand reached out to her neck again. This time she didn’t flinch even when he touched the bruise. 

He looked up from her neck and looked into her eyes before he trailed his hand over her red hair. He liked the color. It suited her. “No one will hurt you here. If they did, I would kill them. You should be happy about that.” He withdrew his hand away from her face and lowered himself back on the ground. 

Before he left, he looked at her once more. Like he was taking her in. It made her blush. This whole time she thought he was studying her to mess with her. But it looks more like he likes what he sees even if she isn’t dressed in her best dress and jewels. “I want you to visit me in my chambers tomorrow evening. I would like to continue our talk.” And then he left. He didn’t see the small smile on her face. Maybe life with Ivar wouldn’t be so bad. But she shouldn’t judge s quickly. After all, he may be pretending to be different just to fool her.

Sometime after he left, did she go back to bed and fall asleep, but his eyes kept haunting her. She liked how blue they were, just like the sea. It gave her an idea. 


	4. Not all monsters do monstrous things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya sees Ivar in a new light, makes up with Sigurd, and gets an ominous revelation.

In the morning, when Margrethe came to help her get dressed, Vanya knew what she wanted to wear. The blue dress she made two years ago for her father’s name day. Blue had always been his favorite color, and now she understood the appeal.

The dark blue fabric complimented her figure. Silas always said it was too provocative. But mother said that if she looks pretty, that he won’t hurt her. Even if Ivar promised to protect her, it wouldn’t hurt to secure her safety.

The thralls kept complimenting her as they did her hair. Margrethe especially looked pleased with how she looked. Vanya did not care for the reason behind as much as she should. She wanted to charm the youngest son of Ragnar.

So she left her room, working up as much confidence as she could. Yet the moment she entered the Great hall, all eyes turned on her, and she stopped. All confidence is gone and replaced with a blush on her cheeks. “Good morning.” She greeted, clearing her throat and walking to her designed spot next to Ivar.

All the boys looked at her, shocked. Her favorite reaction is Ivar, who stared at her as she was an angel. The other eyes made her a little bit squeamish, especially when Hvitserk stopped eating with the spoon resting in his open mouth.

Aslaug looked at her proudly, which made her happy. Her goal may have been to charm her son, but she liked the Queen’s attention too. She admired the woman’s beauty and strength for raising so many sons alone.

“You look great this morning, Vanya.” Ubbe complimented her, making her smile proudly.

“I agree, the dress is beautiful. Whoever did it know the craft well.” Aslaug smirked from behind her cup of mead.

Vanya returned the kind gesture with a smile of her own and twiddled with her fingers underneath the table. “Thank you very much, My Queen. I did it myself.”

This surprised the older woman. She commented on how Vanya could make her a dress too. The young Princess, of course, agreed. Ivar still kept looking at her with wonder in his eyes. He wanted to take back his comment about sewing being tedious. The dress is anything but boring.

The brothers conversed between themselves during the meal in their language. They also kept giving Ivar meaningful glances, that Vanya had no idea what they meant.

After breakfast, the boys went hunting while Aslaug spent time with Vanya. The two talked about the upcoming wedding and what dress she should wear. The Queen of Kattegat had a lot of ideas. It was nice talking to her. It reminded her of the peasant girls talking to their mothers back home. She always wanted to have that with her mother.

But queen Sifflæd never spends much time with either of her children. She married her husband when she was 16 to save her kingdom from poverty. When they were kids, Silas mocked Vanya that their mother cared for him when he was a child. But she didn’t bother to care for Vanya. Wet nurses and teachers raised them more than Sifflæd did.

No matter how much the Queen claimed to love her children, they both knew better. She was too angry at her husband to function. Too jealous of his mistresses to even play or speak to the fruits of her loins. It was easier to ignore them than him. When King Osmond died, and Silas took over the throne, she was free to do as she pleased. She was still young and pretty, so finding a new husband was always an option. So she spent her time with her many suitors while Silas terrorized Vanya.

But Aslaug talks to her kindly, smiling and giving her advice on how to behave during the wedding. How to deal with Ivar and to tell her if he does something she doesn’t like.

“Us women must help each other. We cannot survive in this world all alone.” The Queen said with a stunning smile holding Vanya’s hand in hers. The young ginger nodded, utterly agreeing with her.

They departed ways soon enough as Aslaug had things to do. So Vanya was left alone. She decided to spend some time outside on the bench outside the Great hall. A thrall bought out her sewing utensils as she continued working on embroidery on her last dress. It was a bunch of white flowers on the bottom part of a black dress.

Time flew by quickly as the princes returned from their hunt. They went to take a bath and didn’t disturb her. All expect one. Sigurd stopped next to her when Ivar was out of sight and leaned against a support beam.

He watched her small fingers stab the needle into the dark fabric humming a tune to herself. “That is a pretty melody, Princess.” Vanya jumped in her seat, her head snapping towards him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to talk to you.”

Vanya looked at him confused but made space for him to sit on the bench. The prince sat down next to her and smiled at her, which was weird considering their last conversation. “I wanted to apologize for what I said. I tried to make Ivar angry and attacked you in the process. For that, I am sorry.”

Vanya slowly nodded, mulling his words over. She wanted to ask why he wanted to insult Ivar in the first place but decided against it. It was none of her business. “All is forgiven.”

“That is good. I meant what I said. The melody was lovely.” He seemed a kind man now. So different from the man she met yesterday.

“Thank you. My wet nurse taught me that song. Do you know a lot about music?” The older man shrugged at that and looked back down on her embroidery.

“I play. But I would not say I know a lot about music. I guess we are both people of art.” He kept complimenting her, and she had a sneaking suspicion that it was another way to anger Ivar. Or maybe he is genuinely interested in her work.“I wanted to tell you that if Ivar hurts you, you can tell me.”

“Your mother gave me the same offer. And I am very thankful for it. But if that happened… What would you do?” It should worry her that two people offered her protection from Ivar. But for some questionable reason, she didn’t dwell on it.

There’s no way the man who promised to protect her last night would be the one to hurt her. He may have a temper. But maybe it’s just a front. Everybody fears a dangerous man. It commands respect.

“I would make him stop. Mother would scold him, and it would not stick. He is her favorite, after all. Men like Ivar aren’t happy marriage material.” Sigurd looked so sure of his statement it scared her.

“You make him sound like a monster.” She said softly, hoping he would tell her that he is joking. Or he was trying to scare her. Anything but that Silas chose the devil himself for her husband.

“He is in my eyes.” Again that certainty. It made her uneasy. She hated this man. No matter if he spoke the truth. Why didn’t he leave her to her dream of Ivar being a good future husband?

“Not all monsters do monstrous things. Some just pretend to be evil to be less vulnerable. He is supposed to be a fearless warrior; maybe he pretends to be this way.”

“He is a Viking. But he isn’t like the other warriors. He killed a child when he was four. He torments the slaves. He is not a good man. He seems to like you. So maybe he will try to act kindly around you. But only the gods know how long that would last.”

Vanya nodded at the warnings that the fellow ginger gave her. She was so overwhelmed with how he looked that she judged him for his beauty. How could somebody so handsome be so rotten on the inside?

Sigurd left her side to clean himself. And so she was left alone with her dark thoughts. How naive was she? She dressed up for him in her father’s favorite color because it reminded her of Ivar’s eyes. She said she would judge him for herself, and she decided too quickly.

What frightened her the most was the fact that she would be alone with him again tonight. He asked her to come. If she didn’t, what would he do? She was terrified of all the possibilities of how it may go. He could hurt her, talk to her, treat her, make her like him, rape her…

Why did she not think of that? He didn’t want to talk. He tried to win her trust yesterday. And today, he would have her in his room, alone, with her guard down. He could bed her against her will.

She could call out to Sigurd and tell him what Ivar wanted. It could be a plan B. Her father always said to have one. It is safer that way. Trust no one, always be three steps ahead of your enemy, and don’t let your guard down. Granted, he said it to Silas when he was teaching him strategies. But it could help her as well.

To her horror, it was already late. It was time for supper and a bath. And afterward, she would meet with Ivar. She looked down at the embroidery and frowned.

Vanya lifted her sewing needle to her eye level and watched the pointy object in concentration. Women must protect themselves from men. And a weapon means protection.

She slowly pressed her finger against the sharp tip and applied pressure. A bead of blood rolled down the metal and hit the dress on her lap. She flinched and pulled her finger away and stuck it in her mouth. It gave her an idea. She did not have access to a weapon. But she had needles. She could hide a big one in her dress. And if he tried anything, she would stab him with it. Then she would r run to Sigurd or Aslaug.

With her reduction made, she left the bench and returned to her chambers. She put away her work and went to the hall to eat.


	5. He is complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya spends some alone time with Ivar again.

After supper, Vanya steeled herself for what’s to come. She kept imagining all worst-case scenarios and preying that she was just paranoid.

She hid the needle in her dress like planned and waited on the chair by the fire for everything to grow silent. The redhead sat in the same chair she sat in yesterday. The chair to her left was empty, yet it still felt like he sat there watching her. Just like he did in the morning, he didn’t compliment her as everybody else did.

With one last deep breath and double-check that the weapon was hidden, she made her way to Ivar’s chambers. She kept looking over her shoulder as if one of his brothers would jump out and ask her where she was going.

Gathering all the courage she had left in her, she knocked on his door. “Come in.” She opened the door and looked into his room. It wasn’t that different from hers. A bed, chairs by a fireplace, and a desk. He sat by the fire with something in his hands.

“Come sit; why are you standing there?” He urged her forward with a wave of his hand. He looked excited, which made her curious. So she complied and sat down next to him—the same position as yesterday, only in a different room.

“How was your day, Ivar?” She asked politely. They talked at the table, but it was in Norse, so she didn’t get much out of the conversation.

“We caught a boar, some rabbits, and fish.” Ivar kept looking at his hands. That’s when she noticed a knife in them. She stiffened, scared for what he would do. Slowly she moved her hand to the place where she hid the needle.

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and drew in a deep breath before extending his hand to her. But not the one that was holding the knife. “Take it.” He urged her, opening up his palm.

Vanya couldn’t believe her eyes. Inside his outstretched hand laid a wood carving of a wolf with its mouth open. It was beautiful. “You made this?” She questioned just to be sure she didn’t imagine it.

The ginger reached for the figure and clasped it in her hand, looking it over with adoration in her eyes.

Ivar nodded his head and looked away from her supporting his chin on his palm. His right hand played with the knife that he used to craft her gift. “I did it while my brothers went fishing. It’s Fenrir.”

Vanya looked up at him curiously, all thought of danger in the back of her mind. “Who is Fenrir?”

The youngest son of Ragnar slowly blinked like he didn’t understand the question. “Fenrir is a giant wolf who will swallow the sun during Ragnarok.”

“And what is Ragnarok.”

“The end of everything.”

Vanya watched him in shock. It was a sweet gesture to give her a gift. On the other hand, a giant wolf from the end of the world is not that romantic. Despite her thoughts did she smile at him.

The smile made him pause. It was broad and made Vanya’s blue eyes shine. She looked breathtaking at that moment. She radiated pure happiness, wore a dress that complimented her, and made her red hair stand out. And the glow from the fire made her look like a goddess to him. Freya.

“It is beautiful. Thank you very much, Ivar.” Even her voice was perfect. Ivar shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts and cleared his throat.

“You are welcome. I like your dress.” Ubbe told him to pay her compliments, so he did. The dress does look great on her.

“Thank you. You inspired me to wear it.” Vanya admitted shyly, looking away from him with rosy cheeks.

The prince’s brows furrowed. His head tilted to the side, thinking about everything he told her yesterday. “And how did I do that?”

She wanted to dig her own grave at that exact moment. Why did she say that? What happened to being cautious of him?“Your eyes.” She whispered, refusing o look at him., which works for Ivar.

His stony face was shocked, and his mouth was open. He didn’t expect that. Neither of them said anything. An awkward silence overtook them. She needed to think of anything to say. “Can you tell me more? Of your gods?”

Ivar eyed the fire in front of him, not trusting himself to look at her. So he talked of his gods. Of Odin and his wife, Frigg, of their son Baldur and his death. Or the God of mischief Loki and his three children. He talked of Thor and his mighty hammer, Mjolnir. He told her about Freya and her brother Freyr. After she kept asking, he even told her how the world would end.

It was all so different from her religion. There were so many powerful gods and great stories. Their lying snake was Loki and not Satan; they had no Virgin Mary, no Jesus. It was so foreign but so intriguing she couldn’t stop listening. Recounting her faith is a sin that she will have to commit to the man before her. But God never listened to her. Maybe Ivar’s gods will.

He talked of them with such passion and belief it made her envious. She was Christian because it was the right thing to do. To live a holy life as God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost command. Yet, she never viewed her faith the way Ivar sees his. Perhaps the pagan gods are her destiny.

“Wait. Loki gave birth to a horse?”

“Yes. Sleipnir. It had eight legs.” The seriousness in his face made her pause. He wasn’t joking.

“How does that even work. I know he can change forms, but that is insane.” She shook her head in disbelief, causing Ivar to laugh. She shot him a weak glare. “Are you laughing at me, Ivar?”

“Oh, I would not dare. You must have imagined it.” He was teasing her, and she liked it. This Ivar before her was nothing like the one Sigurd spoke of. How could this man be a monster? She was right all along. He is only pretending. She is sure of it.

“To be honest, I was worried about what you would do today.” This made him stop laughing. The stone-cold face was back, as was the hardness of his eyes.

He stared at her for a long time before he looked away, offended. Whatever he was looking for in her eyes, he didn’t find it. “I saw you talking to Sigurd. He told you bad things about me, didn’t he?”

Vanya gulped and bobbed her head up and down slowly. Her hand twitched to reach for the needle. He still held the knife in his hand. It would only be fair if she were armed herself. Granted, his weapon was more dangerous than hers. And he was a trained warrior. “He told me you killed a boy when you were a child. He said how you treated slaves. He said to beware of you. I told him that I don’t see you as a monster.”

The last sentence made him pause. “Why?” He wanted to know the answer so badly. Everyone saw him as a monster. A crippled, crude thing that no one loved except his mother.

The Saxon Princess mulled her next words over. He wanted her to be more confident. Say what she meant to say. She hopes he isn’t regretting that choice now. “You don’t seem like an evil man to me. You talk to me, encourage me, compliment me, and give me gifts. That doesn’t look monstrous to me.”

Ivar looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face. The stare took too long for her liking and made her feel uneasy all over again. He was reading her face like an open book. Looking for a sign, she was lying and saying these things to save her skin. “I am not a good man.”

“Maybe not. But no one is truly good. Everybody sins. And you are a Viking. Your people are different.”

“And what do you know of my people?” The question started her. It was simple, yet so complicated, just like him.

She nervously twiddled with her fingers. If Ivar didn’t regret telling her to be confident, she sure was. “I know somethings from the attacks on our countries. How you steal, murder, and rape. That is why I was so terrified of what you would do. I know you promised not to hurt me. But… Not every promise is to be kept.”

“Is that all?” Did he have enough of her? “What else did you hear?” Oh. Well, that she could answer.

“You sacrifice humans for your gods. You share your women. You are descendants of the devil. Barely human. You eat human flesh and drink the blood of newborn children.” Ivar sorted out a laugh at that shocking her.

“You think we drink child blood?” His chuckles were not what she expected at all. “You people are so creative.”

After he calmed down, he threw his knife away and fixed her with a look. His eyes were shining. He shifted in his seat and exhaled. “I did what Sigurd said I did. But I would not hurt you. I told you I would protect you. And I keep my promises. I swear it on my gods.”

Vanya nodded, feeling guilty. She shouldn’t. She had every right to doubt him. He is a savage—a heathen who hurts everybody in his path. Yet her chest felt heavy. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I… I am scared. Kattegat is so different. I don’t fit in. I don’t understand what you speak of. Your traditions and gods are new to me. I am afraid.”

“You are going to be the wife of a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. No one will dare to do anything to you. You will no longer be a Christian a get used to our traditions.”

“I want to learn your language. So I can talk to you. Talk to the people of Kattegat.” Vanya leaned towards him eagerly as he raised an eyebrow at her confession.

“Why?” As proud as he was about her desire to learn his language, he and his brothers understood her. That was enough. There was no need for her to talk to anybody else.

“You said it yourself. I am to be the wife of a son of Ragnar Lothbrok. The wife of a prince should be able to talk to her people. Understand them to understand their problems. I don’t want to sit by your side and look pretty. I want to help people. If I am to be your wife, then I want them to love me.”

Ivar smirked at her and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes for a moment before he tilted his head towards her. He locked gazes with her and nodded. “Fine. I will teach you.” Vanya smiled at him again with that brilliant smile and blush.

“Thank you, Ivar.” The said man only waved his hand in dismissal. It didn’t bother him to teach her. At least he had an excuse to spend time with her during the day. He could try books so that she could read the language as well. It was worth a try.

“I should probably go back to bed. The sun will rise soon.” How quickly time passes when she is around him. Ivar looked out of the window to confirm her words for himself. And indeed, the sky was changing colors already.

“Good night, then, Vanya.”

“Good night, Ivar.” And so she retreated to her chambers and laid in her bed with Fenrir in her hand.


	6. Cold feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya learns some Norse and talks about her family.

Ivar tried very hard to teach Vanya Norse. He gave her books to read, talked to her about the Aesir. Sometimes she felt like a little child learning how to talk—just pointing at things asking how to say them. 

Despite learning the problematic language for two days, she was learning fast. Sometimes they even talked in Norse at the table during meals. Since then, the other Ragnarssons taught her a few words as well. 

Hvitserk was very determined for her to learn curse words. Apparently, it is the most crucial part of talking. She still blushed whenever he made her say a bad word. And, of course, the others found it funny, which only made her more embarrassed. 

With two days till the wedding, her nerves got worse. Her nails were bitten to the flesh, and she kept tugging on her hair in frustration. That angered the thralls as all their hard work went to waste the moment Vanya thought of Ivar. That’s why she asked Ubbe to teach her how to say thank you and sorry. 

Margrethe fixed Vanya’s dress one last time, making sure she looked presentable. She envied the Princess’s dresses. The Christian was pretty, free, prosperous, and kind-She had everything she wanted. Expect a good husband. Ivar was a nightmare that Margrethe avoided, like the plague. Ever since Vanya arrived, he put all of his attention on her. But how long would that last? 

“Thank þú, Margrethe.” The blonde thrall looked up at her mistress in surprise. She heard her trying to speak Norse before, but never to her. She only nodded in acknowledgment, making Vanya pout. 

The ginger wished for a female friend that wasn’t her future mother in law. Aslaug mostly talked to her about the wedding anyway. She wanted to have a true friend here. So when the female turned away to leave, Vanya stopped her with a hand on her elbow. _“Could you please stay?”_

Margrethe agreed to sit with her by the fire. After Vanya poured her a cup of ale that she kept there for Ivar, the blonde thrall looked at her, confused. _“I want to talk. Please sit?”_

The two women looked at each other before the thrall agreed to sit with her for a bit. But she didn’t drink from Ivar’s cup, though. “ _Do you like it here, Princess?"_

 _"Yes. It is pretty."_ It took her some time, but he could form some sentences. Ivar said that she was a quick learner. And she was sure her teacher at home would be surprised. It took her a very long time to learn Frankish. Her father always wanted to visit Paris. He never made it, but he used to talk of the city with a passion. 

But Margrethe seemed to be patient with her, no matter how long it took Vanya to form a simple sentence. Or at least she didn’t say anything. They only exchanged a few words before she had to go back to work. 

Vanya liked Kattegat, but she still felt uneasy. Ubbe kept telling her it would be more comfortable after she wasn’t a Christian. But it wasn’t the people; it was her. It didn’t matter that Ivar told her to be confident. Vanya still felt like the little insecure Princess, praying with tears in her eyes after Silas hit her. 

No matter how far away he was, he still haunted her. Every time she opened her mouth, she expected to be told off or hit. She didn’t flinch near Ivar anymore after the first time, mostly because she believed that he would not hurt her. But old habits die hard.

Deciding not to dwell on people that didn’t matter, she went out. She liked to sit on the bench outside sewing. Sometimes she watched the children play near her. It was such a pretty sight. 

"So, the Little bird escaped." 

Vanya glanced over her shoulder to see Sigurd standing there with his lyre in his hand. "Flew out the window, Sigurd. Have you come to sing to me?” She teased the Viking looking back down on her needlework. 

“Maybe. Would you let me?” He sat down next to her and looked over the streets. Ivar was with the blacksmith, and Ubbe and Hvitserk are somewhere of running after women. So he was left alone. 

Vanya fake gasped and dramatically put her hand over her heart. “My Prince! Are you flirting with me? I am to be married soon.” They both laughed at their ongoing joke and fell into a comfortable silence.

“You are going to be my sister in two days. Do you have cold feet yet?" 

Vanya shook her head with a small smile on her lips. "Not yet. I am nervous. But I don’t think I will run.” It was an honest answer. She was nervous. Extremely so. But not enough to flee. 

“Well, that’s nice to hear. I grew to like you. It would be a shame if you left.” Sigurd smiled and winked at her. He was a good company. He was kind, helpful. And yet, every time he opened his mouth around Ivar, she wanted to slap him. Of course, she never did. She wasn’t that kind of person. Violence always disgusted her. 

“Sigurd, would you do me a favor? "When the Ragnarsson nodded, Vanya looked at him with pleading eyes. "Would you play at the wedding? I love your music and would love to hear it there. I am sure Ivar won’t mind. ”

The older male stared at her for a little while before smiling at her and nodding. “Of course, Little bird. I will play for you. At least I will have an excuse not to serve the dinner. "The redhead smiled at him brightly and quickly hugged him. After she pulled away, a moving figure caught his attention.

He was easy to spot, considering that he crawled instead of walked. He glared at Sigurd, who left after a pretty thrall walked by. Aperantlly he wanted her to hear his new masterpiece. He may be kind, but in the end, he was no different than the rest of his brothers—a flirt.

"Did you have fun, Ivar? "The second her voice hit his ears, his frown vanished. He looked up at her and nodded. He didn’t smile; he rarely did when people were around. Sometimes he smiled at her during meals but fixed his expression right after. Nobody ever said anything about it, so she followed their example.

"Yeah. I want to visit Floki tomorrow; you should come. I want to introduce you to them. "The look in his eyes left her no other option than to say yes. Who could say no to eyes like that? She now understood all the girls his brothers slept with.

He often spoke of the boat builder Floki and his wife, Helga. Floki was the one who taught him the way of the gods. The man held a special place in Ivar’s heart, and she knew that he saw him as a part of the family. 

He also mentioned that Floki hated Christians and their faith, which made her very nervous about meeting them both. She wanted them to like her. Her hesitation was evident to Ivar. "They will love you. Helga surely will. Floki might say something, but he is harmless.”

She doubted that a Viking could be anywhere near harmless, but she trusted Ivar. So she agreed. She couldn’t ignore them forever. Ivar moved to his room with Vanya walking next to him, talking of her proposition to Sigurd. Surprisingly he didn’t have anything to say about it. 

They retreated to his room to talk and learn more about Norse. Vanya liked moments like this. She felt happy, something she never thought to be possible. The irony in it all was that Silas was the one responsible for it. She doesn’t love Ivar just yet; it’s too early for such feelings after five days. But she saw him as a good friend she could trust and say anything. 

And over time, she could grow to love him. He was good to her, and she liked that. She was still cautious around him in case he was just pretending. 

Ivar kept stealing glances at her as if he wanted to say something. Vanya clasped her hands in her lap, looking at him with a small encouraging smile and a raised eyebrow. The Prince rolled his eyes at that and sighed. “You never talk about your family. Yet you ask me about mine. What are they like?”

Vanya chewed on her lower lips and played with her fingers. She would rather talk about eight-legged horses with him than family. “There isn’t much to say. My brother Silas is the king of Slegia. My mother’s name is Siflæd. My father died of illness two years ago. My mother has a brother I never met. Otherwise, that’s all.”

“Do you hate them?” The tone Ivar used didn’t sound like a question at all. She wanted to laugh at him for even asking that. She was raised Christian; hating somebody was wrong. She should love them. Yet every time she imagined Silas, she wanted to cry or vomit. She hated him. 

“I hate Silas. He is horrid. But I don’t hate Mother. Not really. I hate that she never helped me against Silas, but you can’t hate somebody you don’t spend much time with.” Ivar understood that feeling well. He hated his father for leaving. Yet he loved the man Ragnar Lothbrok was. He couldn’t help but love him. 

“Did he hurt you more than just before you came here?”

“When father fell ill, all he cared about was power. The next day after he was buried, Silas was crowned king. With no one to stop him, he could do as he pleased. He hit me, humiliated me.” Her voice was monotonous, and her eyes were blank. She looked up at Ivar with a bitter smile on her lips.

“He won’t anymore. The next time he tries anything, I will kill him myself. I swear it on all the gods.” The look in his eyes was sincere. It should scare her how willing he is to kill for her. But she didn’t care. She hated every form of violence. But she won’t survive in this world without it. If she can’t spill blood, then maybe Ivar will spill it for both of them.


	7. Meeting the family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya meets the boat builder Floki and his wife Helga and comes to terms with her own faith.

She chose a red dress and then changed into a green one; finally, she let Margrethe choose her. The blonde thrall chose a pretty pink dress that made her look innocent.

She also changed her hairstyle at least twice before Margrethe told her she wouldn’t change it anymore. Servant or not, the girl was fed up with Vanya’s nervousness.

It’s kind of funny how Vanya is more nervous about meeting Floki and Helga than she was when she met Aslaug. But a man like a boat builder is more intimidating than the Queen of Kattegat.

Ivar kept telling her that the older Viking wouldn’t do anything more than mock her at worst. But yet she was still nervous on her way to them. She imagined a tall man with many muscles with a glare made of hellfire.

That’s not what she got. The lean man giggling by a tree was far from a spawn of Satan. Vanya had a feeling all the rumors of Viking must be false. They were human; some were even kind, far from demons from hell who didn’t bleed when you struck them with a sword.

“Why did you drag yourself here, cripple?” The strange man called out in a mocking tone. Vanya froze in her place behind Ivar. She hated the way he spoke to him.

She opened her mouth to tell him off, but Ivar spoke up instead. “To see your insane old ass. I want you to meet Vanya.” Well, that went better than she expected.

 _“Hello.”_ The kind voice that spoke behind her startled her. The blonde woman looked so happy to see her, Vanya couldn’t help but smile back.

 _“Don’t bother, Helga. The Christian doesn’t understand.”_ Vanya frowned at his words, with Helga mirroring her. The kind female opened her mouth to scold her husband, only for Vanya to intervene.

 _“It is very nice to meet you, Helga. You too, Floki. Ivar told me a lot about you.”_ Helga and Ivar looked at her with pride. Meanwhile, Floki narrowed his eyes at her as if he was looking into her soul. Funny considering he didn’t believe they existed.

Afterward, he giggled before walking over to Ivar and patting him on the head like a dog. The Prince swatted his hand away and hit him in the knee, causing the other man to jump away laughing. _“He talked about you too. I did not expect you to talk at all from what he told me.”_

Vanya looked down at Ivar and raised a curious eyebrow at him. She wondered what he told the man he saw as a father figure, especially if Floki saw her as a mute.

 _“Sit. Let’s talk.”_ Helga ushered them around a put out fire with logs around it. Vanya sat down next to Ivar, who heaved himself onto the wood effortlessly. She admired his grace and strength. And his muscles. Especially his muscles.

She liked Helga already; Floki was a whole different story. He didn’t mock her as much as she expected, but he obviously hated her faith. At least they had something in common.

 _“Ivar says you won’t be a Christian after tomorrow. How do you feel about that?”_ The accusation behind that sentence was so evident it hurt. Yet Vanya didn’t dwell on it. Her husband to be mentioned that Floki always hated Christians. Especially the one who befriended Ivar’s father, Ragnar. The story of how he killed the monk wasn’t exactly a vote of confidence to her.

She blinked once before she looked up to the sky to escape his mean gaze. _“Well, I don’t know. I like the gods Ivar speaks of. They seem better than mine. But he is my family’s God. Even if he isn’t that helpful.”_

 _“Helpful?”_ Great, now Ivar’s questioning her too. She had a suspicion that the two planned this whole conversation to find out where she stood with her faith.

The Saxon Princess looked at the two Vikings again and shrugged. _“He must be a busy God if he never answers my prayers. He doesn’t protect people like the Aesir.”_

The answer both amused and satisfied the duo, which Vanya was thankful for. Whatever God answered her inner cry for help, she was grateful for the support.

 _“And what do you pray for?”_ Helga asked curiously. The ginger thought hard about the question. What would she say? Last, she prayed it was for her to die on the open sea.

 _“Many things. Safety, happiness, forgiveness. I’m sure it is no different from your prayers.”_ The older female nodded with a small smile on her lips.

Floki instead rolled his eyes at that and looked at Ivar from the corner of his eye before smirking. _“And how do you like our little Cripple?”_

Vanya frowned at the word and shook her head at him. _“I like IVAR so far.”_ The emphasis on his name made the said male smirk proudly. Apparently, the answer pleased Floki too. Even Helga smiled at that.

They sat in a circle talking about tomorrow’s wedding. Helga told her a little about her own wedding and what she should expect. The Saxon Princess had no idea what to think of the goat blood she will be sprinkled with, but otherwise, everything sounded great. The sword tradition interested her the most. While the two females talked, Floki led Ivar to his newest boat to show him something.

 _“Poor little Christian isn’t right in the head. She actually likes you.”_ Floki teased the younger Viking when they were out of hearing range. Ivar glared up at the boat builder and scoffed.

 _“Shut it, old fool. Well? Do you like her?”_ The two had a stare off as feminine laughter sounded in the background. Then the atmosphere changed, and they laughed as Floki sat down in the dirt next to the youngest son of Ragnar. He put an arm around his shoulders and lightly swayed them from side to side.

Floki looked at his sweet Helga, talking to the redhead. They both smiled while talking about something that the two men couldn’t make out. _“She is okay for a Christian.”_ Floki spat out the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. Ivar let out a long breath and looked at the happy ginger.

She looked so pretty, talking to Helga with her braided hair and pink dress. She always looked beautiful, no matter what she wore. When Bjorn told him that the king of Slegia chose him as the future husband for Vanya, he was angry. But Aslaug kept bothering him about it till he agreed. That was a day before the redhead arrived. He just couldn’t say no to his mother when she looked at him with soft eyes, worried he would never find love. Ivar was no fool. He knew why Silas chose him instead of his older brothers. It had nothing to do with age.

Bjorn said that the king asked about all of them. And when he mentioned that Ivar’s a cripple, he chose him. After all, the chances of producing a male heir are low for somebody whose lower half doesn’t work—or creating any child at all. And without anybody to raise a claim on Silas’s throne, he can keep on ruling till he creates an heir of his own.

And Ivar wasn’t the only one aware of this plan; Sigurd threw it in his face the moment the engagement was announced. But he wouldn’t say it in front of her; Sigurd was too much of a coward to do it.

 _“Poor little Ivar will be a married man tomorrow.”_ Floki teased, ruffling his hair only for Ivar to roll his eyes at him.

 _“You say it like it’s terrible. Are you not married? What would Helga say if she heard you.”_ Ivar snapped back halfheartedly. He was nervous about marrying her, but not for the reasons his brothers would be. He never cared for women, so not being free to sleep around didn’t bother him as much as it would bother Hvitserk or Ubbe, or Bjorn. It was more about spending the rest of his life with somebody who would see his legs daily. Somebody who didn’t say what they thought without being asked to do so.

 _“But, you are not marrying Helga.”_ The way Floki said it made Ivar pause in his thinking. He was right. Helga and Vanya were different. They may both be kind and soft-spoken, but Helga knew the ways of the Vikings. Meanwhile, Vanya got pale only at the mention of blood. She wasn’t cut for the violent methods that Ivar loved, but she doesn’t have to be. He had no problem keeping her away from it all if it meant she would stay by his side.

The redhead wasn’t like the other women he knew. Every girl he saw looked at him with either pity or disgust. Vanya treated him like an equal. That’s why he enjoyed their evening talks so much. Even if every time she mentioned Silas or froze, every time she said something she thought would make him angry, he wanted to hit or kill something.

The two walked men walked to their wife and bride. The two were huddled together on a log, giggling about something. _“Really? Up to his ears?”_

Helga nodded at the ginger’s question and covered her mouth with her hand. _“Yes. He was covered in mud up to his ears. You could see nothing but the blue eyes.”_

 _“What are you two gossiping about?”_ Floki asked them suspiciously; Ivar knew precisely what they were talking about. Helga looked up at Floki with a smile and giggled again.

 _“The time you threw Ivar into the mud when he wouldn’t stop asking questions.”_ Ivar glared at Helga for telling Vanya such an embarrassing moment. He was only ten and wanted to know all about the boat Floki was building; he wouldn’t let him work till he answered every question. The old Viking got so frustrated with him he jokingly threw him into the mud near them. Only Ivar slipped and caked his whole face in it. His mother made him bathe three times cause the dirt wouldn’t get out of his hair.

Vanya saw his angry shook her head at him, laughing. “It is alright. I did a lot of embarrassing things when I was a child too.” She reassured him in English. Yet his sour face didn’t change.

“Like what, huh?” Ivar asked, raising an eyebrow at her while Helga and Floki watched them talk. Vanya thought hard about a moment in her life where she made a fool of herself. It wasn’t that hard, but she had a feeling saying her whole life was embarrassing wouldn’t make Ivar happy.

“When I was six, my father went hunting with Silas. So I was alone at home with my mother. She had a visitor over. An older man, he was very handsome and knew many stories. I liked him until he called my father a fool for letting him stay. So when my mother went to change her dress, I asked him to sit with me by the fire. I moved his leg to the fire. He was so focused on his cup of wine he didn’t realize that his clothes were aflame till mother walked in. So I spilled the pitcher of wine on him to put it out. I poured it over his head, making him look like a wet dog. He looked so foolish mother sent him away.”

Ivar looked at her with an open mouth and wide eyes. “You set him on fire?” He looked at Floki and smirked at him. _“She set her mother’s lover on fire when she was six.”_

Floki laughed at this while she blushed. “Well, you asked.” She said, smiling slightly at her future husband.

“I asked about something embarrassing.” Ivar pointed out, making her shake her head and roll her eyes.

“Well, it was embarrassing for me when Mother told Father what I did, and he had me locked in my room for a week, especially when he called me his little Spark after that.” She whined, making him laugh. Vanya rolled her eyes at his antics and looked at Helga for help. Floki kept grinning at her, and Ivar telling him that she fit him better than he thought.

The sentence just had to keep haunting her. A husband that fits her. Maybe he did. She certainly liked it.


	8. Wedding day

The morning Margrethe came to wake her up, Vanya was already awake. She barely slept, to tell the truth. The Princess was nervous and couldn’t even close her eyes; she spent the whole night thinking about what would happen.

Aslaug and other women fussed around her to hours-making her hair and getting her dressed. More than once, did she want to get back to bed and go to sleep? But every time she looked at Aslaug’s face and the broad smile it held, she couldn’t tell her anything. The Queen looked so happy, as if it was her own wedding instead of Ivar’s. But maybe that was the reason for her happiness. She loved her son very much, and him finding somebody good for him made her happy. 

So she held her tongue and instead listened to her future mother in law humming a tune under her breath. It was calming and helped her a little bit. The moment Aslaug left to check the preparations for the feast, Margrethe stood in front of Vanya with a worried look. 

_“What is wrong, Margrethe? Do I look bad?"_ The ginger asked with a tilted head and a pout on her lips. They wouldn’t let her check how she looked and wouldn’t even tell her. It frustrated her much. It’s not like she cared if she looked pretty, that would be insane…

_"I wish you good luck with Ivar."_ As sweet as the sentence was, from Margrethe’s lips, it sounded more like a threat for what’s to come. 

Vanya took the thrall's hands in hers and stared at her with a furrowed brow. It worried her that three people warned her of her husband to be. If she didn’t want to run away before, she sure does now. _"Do you fear him?"_ The hesitant nod was answer enough. 

_"You don’t have to. You are my friend. I will protect you.”_ She talked slowly and didn’t pronounce the words quite right, but the sincerity behind them was. The blonde looked up at the ginger with soft eyes. 

_“And who will protect you, Princess?"_ He promised protection from others. But the thrall was right. Who would protect her from him if he was indeed the monster everybody made him out to be.

_"You don’t worry about that. I will be fine. If not, Sigurd promised to help.”_ Worrying about danger on her wedding day was definitely not how she imagined it to be when she was young. But truth to be told, nothing is like she pictured it. She always dreamed of white dresses in churches with her father there, marrying a noble prince with a big heart who would take her far away. At some points, it matched her dream. Ivar is a prince who took her far away, and she is wearing a white dress. Maybe her father will be there too. Watching over her like an angel. 

She feared he would stop doing it after she was no longer Christian. Do angels watch over pagans too? Or do their gods do that instead? Ignoring her worry and whatever other emotion she felt, Vanya sent Margrethe a small smile and looked down at herself. 

The white dress that Aslaug got made for her was simple but pretty. She kept insisting that she could have made one herself, but the Queen said that she should leave it to the women paid to do it. Vanya couldn’t argue with that logic. 

The next time Aslaug returned, it was with Ubbe behind her. He stopped in his track when he looked at the ginger princess nervously, twiddling with her fingers as Margrethe braided flowers into her hair. She looked at him nervously, hoping he would give her a hint or anything. Instead, he only smiled and winked at her. Well, at least that meant she didn’t look that bad. 

“And how are you feeling?” His tone was teasing; of course, it was. He could read her emotions like an open book. 

“Hungry. Tired. I barely slept, and they won’t let me eat. I think I will eat like Hvitserk today.” The furrowed brow and pout reminded the eldest son of Aslaug of a little child. He couldn’t help but laugh at her expression. 

Ivar liked her; that much was obvious. Ubbe suspected it had to do with her looks; after all, she is stunning. He even sometimes saw his brother smile, and he overheard them talking a few times too. All of his brothers kept teasing him about it. So he guarded his face around them. But truth to be told, Ubbe was happy for Ivar; he was different around her, which was good. Finally, there was somebody who didn’t pity him or was disgusted by his legs. Perhaps that’s the reason behind his behavior. 

“Nobody will blame you, don’t worry. It’s time to go.” Aslaug wanted Ubbe to lead her to the wedding place while she went to check on her son again. So the Queen left the two alone with Margrethe, who retired as soon as her hair was perfect. 

When the two were definitely alone, Vanya runs to the mirror to see for herself how she looked. She liked it. She looked so pretty like the princesses in the stories the wet nurse told her about. 

“You look great. I am sure Ivar will freeze when he sees you.” Ubbe joked, looking her over once more. 

“Do you think so? That would be a sight to see.” Vanya giggled back, spinning on her heel to turn to the kind Viking. “I am nervous and excited and very concerned." 

Her confession made Ubbe raise an eyebrow. "Why concerned?" 

Vanya bit her lip nervously, careful not to draw any blood. She wanted to tell Ubbe about her concerns so badly. But until now, Ivar hadn’t done anything to make her fear him. "Is it about Ivar?” And again, he could read her so well. She changed her mind; she doesn’t like Ubbe anymore. He is too kind.

“So many people warned me about him. But… I don’t see a reason to fear him. He has been nothing but kind to me. Not that I am complaining. It’s just that Sigurd and your mother told me that if he did something, I should report to them. But he has been nothing but kind, so I don’t understand what they mean. And that worries me.” Ubbe cut off her rambling by putting his hands on her shoulders and asking her to look at him and take a deep breath.

He kept her steady on her feet and gave her a small encouraging smile. “Ivar is very complicated. He has his problems. But he likes you. If he is kind to you, that is good. Focus on that instead of worrying; something will happen. If it does, you tell us. We are just worried, that is all. You are to be our sister. It is only right, we worry.”

Vanya processed his words and smiled up at him. His words put her at ease and finally gave her mind some rest. She nodded once again before stepping away from the tall man. And so they made their way to the wedding. 

With every step she took, Vanya went through another emotion. Nervousness, determination, worry, and finally, happiness. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw everybody standing there, especially when her eyes met Ivar’s. Ubbe was right; the fearsome crippled Viking froze. 

She walked to him and sat down on the chair in front of him. The chairs weren’t a tradition, but if Ivar had to sit because of his legs, she had to do the same. Vanya wasn’t sure what was happening. She sat there looking into Ivar’s hypnotizing gaze as the world went by around them.

All she could see was Ivar in his new blue tunic sitting there, almost shyly. The only sounds around her faded together till she only heard silence. Yet, she liked the feeling of serenity that surrounded her. All her earlier worries and fear faded away. Maybe it was the fact she was getting married and was finally free of Silas. Or perhaps it was the freedom of the pegan ways that didn’t carry crosses, confessions, and holy water with them.

A sword was placed in her hand as the woman who wedded them put rings on top. Vanya exchanged swords with Ivar before the woman took his face into her hands and made him look at her. “Ivar, do you swear to the gods that you want to marry this woman?”

“I swear.” He said as Aslaug smiled brightly, not too far away from them with his brothers around her. The woman looked at Vanya and softly cupped her face between her hands as she smiled at the former Christian.

“Vanya, do you swear to the gods that you want to marry this man?" 

Vanya nodded softly without hesitation until she remembered that she had to say it out loud. "I do swear." 

"Then, you are married.” The woman said before sprinkling blood in their faces. Vanya flinched at that and closed her eyes but opened them to look at Ivar.

For some reason, he looked as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders when she said yes. She would not say anything else, of course, even if she wanted. But the certainty in her voice was a relief. She was a lousy liar, and her being so sure that her decision was excellent. Slowly the two drew closer and kissed. 

Vanya couldn’t explain the feeling; she kissed people before. She kissed her father’s cheek, her mother’s hands, a foreign prince when she was five. But that was just a peck. This felt different. And when they parted, and Ivar’s eyes slowly opened to meet hers, she knew he felt the same. The feeling was pure joy for good things to come. 

After the wedding was over, they moved back to the Great hall to celebrate. She sat next to Ivar, overlooking everybody while Hvitserk and Ubbe joked while watching the thralls serve their meals and mead. Sigurd played his music like promised, but of course, there were other musicians too. It was all so fun and free, nothing like the parties back home.

“So tell me, SISTER, how does it feel to be married?” Hvitserk teased, making her smile back at him. She bought her cup filled with water to her lips and chuckled.

“Why do you wish to know the feeling?” The sons of Ragnar laughed at the remark and Hvitserks horrified face. She snorted into her cup before she blushed and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. That, of course, only made the others tease her more. 

Hvitserk had a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at her victorious face before he offered his untouched cup of mead to her. “You are supposed to get drunk, Vanya. Come on, drink some mead and not that boring water.”

She took the cup from his hand and looked down at the liquid before looking back up at the three brothers. Ivar waved his hand at her to drink it while Ubbe raised an eyebrow at her daring her to do it. So she did. Oh, how she regretted that choice. She swallowed the mouthful of the potent liquid that bought small tears to her eyes. “Strong.” She whispered, screwing her face into a grimace as the others around her laughed. 

After some time, Hvitserk and Ubbe left to flirt or dance with the pretty ladies as she sat next to Ivar smiling brightly. She could feel eyes on her and look to her right only to see him looking at her. She smirked at him teasingly and raised one perfect eyebrow up in question. “You are staring.”

Ivar shook his head and took her hand in his. “I am admiring true beauty.” Vanya laughed at his cheesy line but blushed when he kissed her hand. 

“Just because it works for your brothers does not mean it will work for you.” She teased back her cheeks, slowly cooling down. 

Ivar smirked at her cockily and led his cup to his lips. “Isn’t it? Could have fooled me.” She rolled her eyes at his confidence and looked at the dancing people. 

“It’s all so different. In England, everybody is remarkably slow when they dance. I like this much more. It feels more like a celebration.” She voiced watching the pagans move, laugh, and drink without a care in the world. Hvitserk heard her and mentioned for her to join in his dancing, but she shook her head. “I don’t know how to dance like that." 

"Then, it’s time you learn.” He cheered, a little bit tipsy but still presentable. Vanya felt Ivar squeeze her hand in his when she looked at him; he encouraged her to go dance. So she went with Hvitserk spinning and fooling around with her head thrown back, laughing loudly. Ivar’s smile changed into a frown as he watched her dance with his brother. He wanted to be in his place, on two legs with his wife’s hands on his shoulders as he spun her around. But he never would.

Yet, he loved to see her dance. It was nothing like the shy Christian that arrived a week ago. She looked silly yet graceful. Like she belonged with them. Meanwhile, Vanya caught a glimpse of a grumpy Ivar alone in his chair, only with his mother by his side. 

After some time, she moved back to the table and collapsed in her seat, gulping down her cup of water. She leaned back in her chair and looked at Ivar’s confused face. “What are you doing. Go dance." 

Vanya shook her head, smiling softly. "I wanna sit here with you, Husband,” Ivar smirked at the way the word rolled off her tongue and caught her hand in his. The two sat there talking about nothing and everything while the feast went on. When the moon was very high in the sky, the two decided to retreat to their chambers, their ears hurting from all the noise. Wolf whistles lead their way before they finally reached their destination.

The fire was burning as thralls removed the flowers from her hair and took off her dress, only leaving her in her underdress. When the two slaves left, she looked back at Ivar, who sat on the bed, getting rid of his braces. 

The redhead strolled over to him, unsure of what would happen next. She knew they should bed each other, but she was so nervous her hands shook. Ivar stopped in his task and looked up at her, just as unsure as to her. He gulped loudly, watching her walk in front of him. 

She stopped in front of him and looked into his blue eyes biting her lower lip. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” She confessed, shyly sighing in defeat.

The two newlyweds looked at each other before Vanya kneeled in front of Ivar and helped him take off the straps that tie his legs together. Ivar’s blue eyes watched her like a hawk trying to see any sign of disgust at being near his useless legs. But there was none—just nervousness. He gulped when the task was done and thought of Ubbe’s advice. 

Vanya looked up at him and smiled a small smile before kissing him again. This time it lasted longer and held more emotion. It contained a lust that was foreign to her. She never lusted after somebody, so the passion behind this lip lock was exciting. It was new and very much welcome. 

Ivar drew her up on the bed with him and kept kissing her as his hands slowly settled on her hips. Vanya’s hand cupped one of his cheeks as she leaned her front against his. There was no space between their chests that, with every pant, moan, and needy whimper, they could feel the vibrations. The hands-on her hips tightened as Ivar pulled her on top of him. 

Vanya pulled back, breathless, and gazed down at Ivar, who panted just as hard as her. His eyes were no longer the shining bright blue; they were darker like the sea during a storm. She placed her small hands on his shoulders to balance herself and softly kissed him again, wanting to feel the warmth in her belly again.

Ivar’s right palm trailed down her waist, gripping her milky white tights, squeezing to compare his calloused hands with her silky smooth skin. He trailed the hand buck up again, pulling her underdress slightly up, making his way to her neck. He cupped the back of her long neck and pulled her away from his lips so he could kiss her neck as Ubbe told him to do yesterday. 

Vanya threw her head back as her fiery locks cascaded down her back. A sound of pleasure left her pink lips, which made Ivar pull away and look up at her. “Good or bad?” He asked unsurely, making sure she was enjoying it just like he was. Vanya shyly nodded, not trusting her voice before she struggled to take off her husband’s shirt. 

When the piece of garment was off, Ivar threw it on the ground, intensely gazing into Vanya’s blue eyes. The two locked lips again as Ivar drew up her underdress, leaving her naked. Vanya went to cover herself instinctively. “Don’t.” Her husband’s voice stopped her as he curled his fingers around her wrist and shamelessly watched her body. That is until he locked gazes with her, and the shyness was back. He looked down as if he was ashamed of being caught; Vanya laughed at that and lifted his face back at her. 

“Let’s move higher on the bed. I feel like I will fall off the bed soon.” She confessed, shifting in his lap. Ivar nodded, helping her off him, and dragged himself up the bed. 

“I would not let you fall.” He added, frowning at the suggestion. Vanya smiled at that moving towards him but stopped as her hand touched the fabric of Ivar’s pants. Ivar looked down at the spot she was concentrating on and swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. 

“We don’t have to take them off. Or we can put a blanket on them if you are uncomfortable. I don’t care.” She said frantically, seeing his discomfort, but Ivar shook his head and moved her hand off his pant leg. He squeezed her fingers and went to the strings keeping his pants on. He paused again, feeling Vanya’s eyes on him.

“Close your eyes.” The son of Ragnar softly ordered as Vanya nodded and did as he wanted. With some sense of privacy, Ivar took his pants off with a little bit of struggle and threw them on top of their other clothes. He changed his mind and covered them with a blanket just to be sure. “You can look.”

She didn’t mention the blanket as he helped her on top again. All she did was connect their lips together and trail her hands over his shoulders and back. The redhead softly trailed her fingertips over his back, shoulders, arms, and chest making shivers spread over him. She could feel the muscles move under her touch, the fire building in her body growing hotter and hotter. She felt like she would melt any minute if he didn’t act soon. 

As if he was reading her thoughts, Iva lifted her hips up and scooted the blanket lower, struggling with the fabric as she kneeled on it. Vanya couldn’t help but laugh at his frustration, trying to help him by lifting her knees one by one. But the blanket got tangled in her feet, causing her to nearly fall. Ivar reacted faster than her and pulled her to his chest. She laughed again at the awkwardness; Ivar chuckled too but finally freed the fabric from under her. 

His legs were still covered, but now he could feel all of her skin against him. The soft skin was warm to the touch and slightly damp with sweat, just like his. Vanya looked at him, unsure what to do next. All she knew about sex was from her mother and a few servants from home. Looking at the ceiling and waiting for it to be over was not an option. Mostly because she was on top of him and secondly because she enjoyed the view too much to look away, his firm muscles and handsome face with his intriguing eyes were a sign to behold.

And she wanted to see him looking at her too. No matter how flustered she got from the attention, he kept trailing his eyes over her frame with a sense of worship. As if she was a goddess only there for him. 

Ivar licked his lips and trailed new kisses over her neck, then he trailed his left palm up from her hip towards her plump breast, caressing the flesh with her noises of excitement and pleasure cheering him on. It felt glorious to make her lose focus and enjoy herself. With every breathy moan and gasp or every shiver, he felt more powerful. It gave him an unknown high that he didn’t feel since the first time he successfully killed an animal. His body was driven on with pride, lust, and slowly growing confidence. 

The young Viking gently lifted the ginger’s hips and entered her. The two gasped and froze in their movements, getting used to the sensation. Panting with their foreheads resting against each other, the room got hotter than before as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Neither knows who kissed who first or who started moving; all they knew that words couldn’t describe what was happening. 

Vanya couldn’t believe she was scared of this moment for so long. The other women in her life who told her of sex always made it sound like a terrible thing involving screams of pain, blood, and tears. Yet the tears in her eyes were caused by ecstasy, not suffering. His skin against hers was heaven, not disgusting, and she wondered if they lied or truly felt all those things. But this wasn’t about them. It was about her and Ivar moving against each other for the first time of many.

Ivar thought he reached Valhalla with the way she was around him. He could smell her all around him, hear only the sounds she made, and focus on her. She resembled a goddess with the way her hips moved with the little gasps passing between her lips. She was perfect in every sense, and he couldn’t get enough of her. 

The noises she made grew louder as she panted above him, her head thrown back and eyes closed as her frame shook. Ivar felt her tight, making him lose himself in the feeling before it was over. The two collapsed back on the bed, both panting; Vanya rested her heavy head on his chest, trying to catch her breath as bliss settled over them. 

Ivar rested one of his hands on top of her red locks, looking up at the ceiling, surprised at what happened. He was so nervous he would not be able to satisfy a woman because of his condition. But thank the gods, he wasn’t a complete cripple, and Vanya seemed satisfied enough given by her happy smile.

“That wasn’t what I thought it would be,” Vanya mumbled, looking up from her husband’s chest, her eyes soft and sleepy. 

Ivar raised an eyebrow at that. “Was it bad or what?” Vanya shook her head at that, dragging her body higher so their faces would be at the same level. “Don’t worry, it was great. It’s just that the women back home said it would be horrible. I liked it this way better." 

Ivar smirked as Vanya laid her head next to his closing, her eyes sleep taking control over her. He kissed her on top of her head and closed his eyes, breathing in her scent while holding hands on top of his chest. 


	9. The good princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya grows into the role of the Princess of Kattegat.

Two days after the wedding, Ivar and Vanya lived in bliss. Not much has changed in his behavior, of course, but there were moments of calmness. Vanya continued learning Norse and making dresses. She even did the dress that Aslaug asked her for; it was a deep green color that brought out the Queen’s eyes. 

Yet she longed for more. She wanted to experience Kattegat in a new way. Every time she saw little children run by, her heart ached to see them run around with their clothes torn and faces dirty. When she asked Aslaug, all she said was that they were poor or maybe orphans. The woman did not care much. The Kingdom wasn’t in the best condition even though Kattegat grew in size under her rule.

So she made a plan, but first, she had to discuss it with Ivar. So when they sat by the fire like they did every night before bed, watching the flames flicker, did she bring it up. “Ivar?”

The Viking hummed, not looking back at her, preoccupied with cleaning his ax. Vanya gazed at him, waiting for him to look at her and hear her out. When he did, Vanya opened her mouth and laid ut her plan. “I want to visit the orphans tomorrow.”

Ivar looked at her with wide eyes, confused by her weird request. “And why is that?”

“I wish to feed them. I also worked on some coats to keep them warm during winter. I wish to help the less fortunate people of this Kingdom.” The ginger hoped he would agree. She did everything necessary to help; she traded some of her jewelry from England for food so she would not use the Queen’s coin. The coats for the children she sewed out of the pieces of fabric left from her other works. 

Ivar shook his head, scowling at the fire. “No way. You will fall ill, or somebody will hurt you. Don’t concern yourself with them.” Vanya huffed at that, leaning over the table to look into her husband’s angry eyes. 

“I can’t watch those poor children run around hungry and cold. Please, I want to help them. Send some guard with me if you must or thralls. But please let me go. I beg of you, Ivar.” She sounded desperate, like she would die if she didn’t help. It angered Ivar. She was royalty; she shouldn’t meddle with the poor and sick. But he couldn’t say no to her. No matter how much he repeated the word to her, in the end, it always turned into a yes. 

“Fine. If it makes you happy.” He sneered, leaning back in his chair, grumpy about the whole situation. Vanya squealed like a little child and run over to his side to hug him. She kept repeating, thank you happily, as if he made her day, and perhaps he did. 

Hesitantly he put one of his hands on her back and tangled it in her ginger locks that smelled of flowers. The affection that she keeps showing him since their wedding always catches him off guard. She doesn’t care if there are people around or if they are alone; the Saxon princess has no problem holding his hand or smiling at him. 

Vanya pulled away from him and happily smiled at him, causing Ivar to do the same after some hesitation. She tilted her head to the side adorably and climbed into his lap, surprising him at her forwardness. Usually, he had to make the first move because Vanya was too shy. And now there she is sitting in his lap smiling like a cat who got the cream. 

“What are you doing?” Vanya shrugged at his question and leaned her forehead against his left shoulder. The ginger wrapped her arms around his middle and sighed happily, causing Ivar to raise an eyebrow. This is definitely not what he thought she wanted to do. 

“Resting. Or aren’t you comfortable like this? We can move to the bed.” So after some untangling and dragging, they were both on the bed with Vanya’s head lying on his naked chest as she fell asleep. 

The next morning Vanya woke up early to gather a few thralls and get everything ready on a cart pulled by a horse borrowed from the stalls. The ginger felt hopeful for her future as the Princess of Kattegat. It may be a strange place, but the more accustomed she gets to the people, the better for her. After all, she must do something here, or she might go crazy with only the Ragnarssons and Aslaug as her friends. They aren’t even proper friends considering that she married into their family. 

“Everything is ready, Princess." A sweet voice broke her from her thoughts. When Vanya looked over her shoulder to look at the voice’s owner, she froze, before Vanya stood a girl a little bit shorter than her in a red dress. The shocking thing about her was her untamed curly red hair and blue eyes that reminded her of her own. 

"Thank you, what’s our name?" The girl looked so friendly and warm Vanya instantly liked her. She looked like walking sunshine to her, so far from anything she knew of Viking women. Like a ginger Helga.

"Brynja, My lady. I am to be your personal servant from now on." Ivar mentioned he would give her a new thrall as he didn’t want Margrethe around her anymore. Apparently, the blonde now slept with all his brothers and missed out on a lot of her work. Ivar was persistent about Vanya having somebody by her side all the time in case she needed anything. And matter how hard Vanya tried to make him change his mind, he refused to do so. He left the room every time the topic came up. 

Vanya looked at the kind woman before her and smiled at her. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brynja. Please call me, Vanya." The curly-haired ginger nodded her head in agreement and waited for Vanya to give her a task to do. Truth to be told, other than going to visit the children, Vanya wasn’t as busy as Ivar thinks her to be. She can carry her sewing out to the bench, do her hair, and dress if she has to. In her eyes, there is no need for a slave to do all that for her. Back home, the only time she was allowed to have a servant was to wake her up and dress her for the day. Even then, Silas complained that she used his servants. 

The two women and two male thralls made their way to the hut that held all the orphan children. As the two walked side by side, Brynja watched the Princess strangely. "Is something wrong?" Vanya’s voice startled the servant from her thoughts. She looked into her mistress’s eyes only to see curiosity and worry instead of the cruelty she expected of the wife of Ivar the Boneless.

"No, My Lady. I was just wondering why you want to help them? If it is alright, I ask?" The curly redhead explained, worried for the outcome. The other servants and thralls warned her about Ivar and his personality. They had only good things to say about Vanya for now, but that would surely change with time. After all, she would have to adapt to his mean ways if she is to stay. 

Vanya smiled at the shorter female in excitement and added a bounce to her steps. "I wish to help them, of course—the better the Kingdom, the happier the people. And if Kattegat is filled with happy people, the word will spread, and it will rise to greatness. Greater then now. Trade is important, but so are the people.”

Brynja stopped walking and looked at the Princesses back with wide eyes. The said female also stopped and looked back at her new companion. "Is it something I said?“ She asked innocently, surprising the low born woman further. It has been a long time since somebody helped the people of Kattegat like this. Ragnar and Lagertha helped the city rise to fame by raiding and making it into Norway’s trading center. Yet neither lives here anymore, and Aslaug did her best to glorify their home; however, the less fortunate people were left to help themselves. 

"No, Princess Vanya. I am just happy that you care for the people. That’s all." Brynja confessed, liking the Saxon more than before. Vanya beamed at the other ginger and mentioned that they continue their journey uphill to the house where the orphaned children of the raiders lived. 

"What does your name mean, Brynja? It is a beautiful name." Vanya loved knowing the meaning of somebody’s name, to understand what their parents hoped for them to be like. It was a game she played with her father a long time ago. 

Brynja looked at her with a raised eyebrow but answered the request. "It means armor. My father chose it." Her blue eyes watched the dirt road before them as two male thralls walked beside the cart and horse behind them. Only a bit higher, and they will reach the hut. "What about your name? What does it mean?”

“Gracious gift of God. My father chose it as well." Brynja nodded at the information as they carried on in silence. The Princess went quiet at the mention of her father. She missed the man terribly, and now with nothing to remind her of him, she felt alone. Vanya wished he was alive, sitting on his throne with her on his knees, telling her stories of heroic warriors, just like when she was young and too naive to fear Silas. Back then, he was just a sour boy ignored by his parents, hurting others so they would pay attention to him. No wonder he became a tyrant of a king.

The crew arrived at the hut, filled with laughter and children crying. It wasn’t too big or small, which Vanya hoped was because there weren’t too many orphans living there. She knocked on the door and waited for a reply. An older woman with brown hair and green eyes opened the doorway glaring at the visitor until she recognized the Prince’s new wife. "How can I help you, Princess?”

“Actually, we came to help you. We bought food, furs, and coats for the children." The wet nurse’s eyes widened in shock as she held her chest in surprise. She was either very surprised or had chest pains or both. The children run out from behind her as the thralls, Brynja and Vanya, handed out food and coats to them. The children looked around in wonder showing off their new clothes or munching on the food happily.

The Saxon couldn’t help but smile at their happiness; it warmed her heart to see them like that. They all excitedly run into the hut to watch the thralls put everything away. Vanya sat down by the fire while some kids showed her their toys and told her their names. They all run around laughing and playing with the food in their hands, sometimes taking a bite. 

"If you ever need anything, Esther, you come to me. And I will help you in any way I can. I swear to you." Vanya promised the older woman who had tears in her green eyes as a babe laid in her arms, sucking on its thumb. The Princess had a little blonde girl in her lap, while two smaller girls braided Brynja’s hair. 

After a while, the Princess and the servants said their goodbyes and left back to the Great Hall for lunch. When Vanya entered the big room, there was no one except Aslaug, who sipped on her cup of wine, looking at the floor with a frown on her face. She looked up when her daughter in law entered and smiled at her. "Come sit, child." 

Vanya sat down on Ragnar’s throne next to Aslaug and looked at the female in worry. Obviously, this wasn’t her first cup of alcohol by the way she paused between her words and blinked a little too slowly. "Is something wrong?”

“No. No… I just wanted to talk to you. That’s all.” Aslaug explained, taking the younger girls’ hand in her own and looking into her worried eyes. “Ivar mentioned what you did today. You are a smart girl.”

“Thank you, My Queen. But it was nothing; it was my pleasure, actually.” Vanya reassured her, hoping Aslaug wouldn’t accuse her of seeing her as incompetent. But nothing like that happened. Instead, Aslaug smirked and shook her head from side to side with humor evident on her face. 

The Queen of Kattegat squeezed Vanya’s hand and watched her with a calculating gaze that kind of reminded her of a less intense Ivar. “I don’t mean the orphans, love. I mean the way you took care of everything. Selling your jewelry so you wouldn’t have to borrow our coin, using leftover fabrics. That is all very smart of you. Quite impressive.”

The redheaded Princess blushed at the praise and chuckled lightly. Yet Aslaug kept looking at her like she was reading her thoughts and figuring her out better than Vanya could do herself. Maybe she was capable of doing that; Ivar said his mother’s a Volva, and she heard the rumors that the woman is a witch.

The Queen drew her nearer to her, so Vanya had to lean over the throne to hear her. “Ivar likes you. I do too. And I can see you feel the same way. It is good you are smart and care for people. People aren’t my son’s strong side, but you know how to play that game conveniently.”

The former Christian drew her eyebrows together in confusion, with her pink lips in a small pout as she tried to figure out the meaning behind the statement. After some time, she gave up and decided to ask instead. “What do you mean, ‘play the game?’. I don’t understand.”

“The game of royalty. You are influencing people, drawing them to your side. You have a big heart, which makes people like you. And then, if the need arises, they will support you. Folks are easy like that; if they benefit from your presence, they stand behind you no matter what.” The Queen looked away from her and watched the swirling liquid in her liquid instead. “All the Sons of Ragnar have their father name and position-something that demands respect. But he is no longer as respected as he used to be, not if he isn’t here to care for his people. That is why we need all the support we can get, even from Christians from England who fear us. Fear is one way to gain allies, just like sympathy is. You win their sympathy, and the boys do the rest.”

Vanya’s frown deepened as she mulled her words over. It made no sense to her why she bought it up. She knew the importance of allies and friends. Her father always said that he needed to keep good faith with the other highborn in case of an attack. Silas commanded respect by birthright and fear. Many families who supported Slegia abandoned them because of it. They had no use of a king who didn’t help them. “You want me to influence Vikings in your stead? I doubt they will like me.”

“So do I, but you are a smart girl. You are not meant to do it in my stead. Or for Bjorn or my other sons. Ivar’s your husband. He is a headstrong boy. People don’t respect him as they should. I know there is greatness in his future, whatever it may be. Yet when the time comes, you must help him keep the allies that won’t be drawn in with fear or threats.”

With a sigh, Vanya promised Aslaug to do as asked. She knew Ivar was meant for more than to be just a prince. He wanted more, as did all his brothers. And she would help them all. But she would not use people like toys. She would remain the way she was, and if it won loyalty or allies for the Ragnarssons, then so be it. She’s no great manipulator. 

Aslaug retreated to her room to sleep off her tipsiness while Vanya remained on Ragnar’s throne, too deep in her thoughts to remember where she sat. “Are you alright, Vanya?" 

Bjorn walked over to her with a raised eyebrow, and his head tilted to the side. "Yes. Just thinking.” Vanya stood up and walked to her brother in law and smiled at him kindly. “Did I miss lunch?”

“Yes. The thralls will serve you your food. Do you need some company?” It was almost comical how the tall male used to scare her not so long ago. Now he reminded her of a sweet bear. She shook her head and sent him off to his wife and children, so she could spend some time alone and think about her conversation with Aslaug. It worried her how the Queen’s first thought when she found out about her charity work was to think of gaining allies for Ivar.


	10. The plan of the gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya has some doubts about her path. Which creates some drama between her and Ivar (only slight we will take it one drama at a time).

**_When Vanya was young, her father attended meetings with the council every week. Every seven days, he spent three hours locked inside the throne room, talking to wise men. She remembers the day he allowed her and Silas to attend too. She was so excited to see all these important men made big decisions._ **

**_“King Osmond of Slegia, son of King Eadwine the Brave, second of his name. His wife, Queen Siflæd, Princess of Wrosan. Their firstborn Prince Silas and his sister Princess Vanya.” One of the councilmen announced their arrival at the meeting with foreign royals._ **

**_The room was filled with men, old or young, all looking serious. Her father sat down on his throne with their mother next to him and her and Silas sitting on little chairs on her left. Her father told her it was a crucial meeting, and it would be better if they were all there. Even if they just sat there and smiled at some people._ **

**_“My dear lords, thank you for coming. I called you all here to talk to you about the threat that has plagued England for some time now.” King Osmond said in his grave, commanding voice that sounded so different as to when he spoke to Vanya. It wasn’t a king’s voice that showed affection. It was cold and to the point._ **

**_“And what might that threat be, my king?” The lord who asked the question was old and bald. Next to him sat a younger boy, maybe fourteen._ **

**_Osmond scoffed and glared at the stupid man. Of course, he knew what he was talking about. “The Northmen–”_ **

**_“The Northmen are no threat. Ragnar Lothbrok was defeated and hid somewhere, nursing his pride. He has for three years now.” Another visitor cut off Osmond, waving his hand around like it was no big deal._ **

**_Osmond leaned forward in his seat and stared at the men before him with a cold gaze. “Ragnar Lothbrok may be hiding. But his heirs aren’t. What of his son and his wife? What of his other sons? They aren’t hiding. They are biding their time, and we must be prepared when they attack. We can’t ignore the threat that grows stronger with time. When his sons are grown, they might invade England in their father’s name. What of the settlement in Wessex? The slaughtered Vikings. The Northmen are loyal; they will try to avenge their own. I can feel it. And we must be ready; we must heighten our defenses, ready our soldiers.”_ **

**_The room grew so silent you could barely hear the breathing of the twenty men, one woman, and two children. Vanya watched the quiet royals thinking the words over. They held no fear anymore; ever since the Vikings stopped raiding with Ragnar, they felt safe. They got comfortable._ **

**_“We should attack them!” Cried out the fourteen-year-old boy at the table. Everybody looked at him, some shaking their heads, others agreeing. They were men of honor, stupid men, but men of honor no less. They thought the war was the answer to everything, even if it is a lost war._ **

**_“Why can’t we make peace?” Vanya asked, looking up at her father from her chair. The room got quiet again. Some men sneered in disgust at the child’s simple words. Siflæd rolled her eyes in shame while Silas glared at her as if his gaze could set his sister on fire. The King looked at her with a blank face instead._ **

**_“Tell me, Vanya… How should we do that?” Osmond asked her, humoring his youngest child despite the group of councilmen before him._ **

**_Vanya bit her lower lip and twiddled with her fingers nervously. “We could give them something and ask them to leave us alone.” She suggested hoping her father would like the answer. The wet nurse always told her that if she wanted something, she should ask politely. So it could work with these strangers too._ **

**_Osmond chuckled and mentioned for Vanya to come to him. He pulled her onto his lap and showed her the cross around his neck. “This is a cross my father gave to me when I was your age. He told me that God could protect anyone who needs help. But those men you want to negotiate with don’t pray to this cross. They don’t see faith and protection; they see gold. And if I were to collect all the gold, silver, and crosses in this kingdom and offered it to them, what do you think would happen?”_ **

**_Vanya thought hard about her father’s words. But before she could answer, he cut her off. “We are a small kingdom, Vanya. We can’t offer them how much they want. They are greedy men. And they could go back on their word and attack us anyway. God wouldn’t help us if we tried that. No matter how many golden crosses we might give them. It would save lives, yes, but negotiation isn’t always the answer. We are a small kingdom; they wouldn’t negotiate with us. It would be easier to fight us instead. It’s noble for you to think of peace, but not everyone thinks that way.”_ **

**_After he finished his speech, he sat the eight-year-old redhead back down and sent her back to her chair. Silas sat next to her watching her every step with a hateful look, gripping the armrests tightly. When the meeting was over, Siflæd left the two children behind and returned to her chambers. Silas ran after her stomping his way and huffing like an angry bull. And so Osmond was left alone with his daughter._ **

**_She looked up at him with sad eyes. The young Princess hoped there was a way for peace. She didn’t want him to go to war. People die in wars; her father didn’t deserve to die. “You are a good girl, Vanya. One day you will make an excellent Queen. I am sure of it. That’s why you should learn the ways of a ruler. We don’t just make deals, little Spark. Sometimes fighting is necessary; that’s why you should know to pick your battles. Fight every battle in your mind first, then move to the battlefield. Don’t just jump into action; it could cost you your life and your people’s lives. You are the daughter of a king, a small king, but a king nonetheless. Be smarter than your enemy. Bargain when needed and to fight when necessary.”_ **

**_Vanya looked at her father curiously. It made no sense to her. “The wet nurse says the men fight. I am not a man.”_ **

**_Osmond chuckled and led her to a map on the table where the councilmen sat not so long ago. “Do you see this? Silas will rule this kingdom one day. He may be only twelve right now, but soon he will be a man. And men fight wars with other men. He is too quick to go into battle. Too eager to sacrifice his men in any fight. He will need a calm woman by his side to make him reconsider his choices. Some queens secretly pull strings. They whisper words into their husband’s ears and make them think they were their thoughts. You will be somebody’s wife one day. The wife of a king, perhaps.”_ **

**_Vanya watches the borders of Slegia surrounded by the woods and other villages and cities. “So, you want me to whisper to my husband?” She asked, confused, not understanding what he wanted._ **

**_“Maybe you will have to do so. Maybe he will be a smart man. But it’s better if he has an intelligent wife too. A silent little mouse isn’t always the answer. So be smart, Vanya. Clever people make it further.”_ **

****

Vanya kneeled on the ground on a hill, praying to the Norse gods for guidance. She had been kneeling there for the past hour. Her knees hurt from the hard ground as she waited for answers or a sign. Yet nothing came—nothing from the Norse gods or God himself. She was at her wit’s end.

Vanya was not Queen material, no matter what anybody might say. When Silas became the King, she swore she would never be like him. He was cruel and didn’t care about his people. No matter what Silas might have said when her brother sent her away. He would have sacrificed his subjects if he didn’t need to rule over somebody. Silas cared more about the title and crown than about anybody else. 

But if Vanya ever were to be a queen, she would care for her people, protect them from harm, and make them love her. That’s why she helped the people of Kattegat. She wanted them to be happy and not obligated to support her. In her eyes, the enemy weren’t men with swords and armies. Those were her brother’s enemies, the enemy of the people in poverty. And she will fight a battle against it in their name. That’s the battle she chooses for herself. Let men fight their wars with steel and blood. Her fight was against hunger, the cold, and illnesses. She will continue to be the Princess of the people. 

“There you are; I have been looking for you like mad.” A voice startled her from her determined thoughts. She looked over her shoulder to see Ivar crawling towards her, annoyed. He froze when he saw her kneeling position. “What are you doing?”

“I was praying for wisdom,” she explained, turning towards him and sitting down with her back against the stone she prayed against. 

Ivar huffed and crawled in front of her, glaring at her for some reason. “And to who were you praying? The true Gods or the imaginary Christian one?” He spat the words at her making her flinch.

Vanya clenched her hands and frowned at his tone of voice. “Honestly… Both. I’m hoping for answers, but mostly, I just think in silence.”

Ivar scoffed and looked away from her as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her. Vanya reached out to her husband, but he pulled his hand away and glared back at her. “Of course, the gods don’t answer you. You are praying to that filthy Saxon god!”

“I am praying to him because I need guidance, and I always prayed to him before I met you. It’s a habit, Ivar. I am not Christian! But he was my father’s God; he is my family’s God!”

“Yes, the God of the family that hates you and sent you away. The God of your dead father, what a useful God he is!”

“Stop it! I don’t want to fight! I am sorry, just shut up!” Ivar growled at her bold tone of voice and slithered to her like a snake waiting to strike. The Viking got face to face with his wife and pierced her with a cold gaze. His eyes reminding her of the sea at the brink of freezing over. 

“What could be of such importance that you would dare to pray to him? Huh? What was so pressing you had to pray for wisdom?” He hissed at her making her shake in her spot in fear. She was afraid of him. How fast the joy faded from their relationship.

“Your mother told me things that made me question my faith. I already doubt myself with every step I take. And I needed answers that no one could give me. So I ask both my old God and my new gods.”

Ivar pulled away from her with a frown on his handsome face, the coldness in his eyes slowly fading. “What did my mother tell you?”

“She wants me to use people to manipulate them by being nice to them. To help you and your brothers raise in the world. I am not a liar, Ivar. That is not my way.” She revealed her hands clasped in fists with her knuckles white. Vanya felt her fingernails digging into her soft skin leaving behind a stinging pain. 

Her husband stared at her, blinking but not giving anything away. His face was better guarded than Kattegat itself. “Why did you come to pray then? If you know that, that’s not your way.”

“I don’t want to disappoint her! I admire her. But I can’t pretend to be someone I am not.” The ginger blurted out her eyebrows drawn together, a pout on her lips as she loosened her fists. 

“Then, don’t pretend,” Ivar responded like it was that easy. If it were that simple, she wouldn’t be on top of a hill with sore knees. “Ignore Mother.”

“It’s not that easy. I can’t just do whatever I want to do, Ivar. It’s expected of me to listen.” She tried to explain to him, her voice getting higher and higher with every word—all of Vanya’s recent decision gone because of Ivar’s interference. 

Ivar sneered at her and looked over his home. He watched the people walk around, going about their day. “You are my wife. Do whatever you want to do as long as it’s not praying to false gods. If anybody says anything to you, you tell me, and I will take care of it. You don’t want to manipulate people, then don’t. It is that easy.”

Vanya gazed at the side of his head with wonder. She expected him to yell at her some more for going against his mother’s wishes. Yet there he sat, calmed down, encouraging her to be herself. He had a temper, but he also had a brain. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Next time you want answers, ask the Aesir or the Seer.” He ordered, ready to leave when he saw Vanya check her palms and hiss. Ivar crept towards the ginger and pulled one of her palms towards himself. 

Her palms held bloody half circles from her nails that stung a little bit. Ivar looked them over with his brows knitted together in concern. The Viking observer her defeated and ashamed front.

“I hate the Christian God; that won’t change. You said yourself that you don’t believe in him. But I am sorry for yelling.” Despite the sincerity behind his words, it was evident to Vanya that he had trouble apologizing to her. But the fact that he did it anyway warmed her heart. He truly regretted his earlier tantrum.

He then looked back down on her hands and cupped her smaller palms in between his calloused ones. He then bought them up to her lips and gave them a kiss in apology. “Never hurt yourself again.”

Vanya nodded at his pleading and smiled a little smile at him. She made her choice, and after some arguing, she had a supporter. The Princess would be herself. She had no desire to manipulate people; if her kindness did attract people to the Ragnarssons side, then so be it. But she would never intentionally do it.

Vanya stood up with Ivar’s support and walked by his side to the chambers to take a bath and get ready for bed as the sunset behind them. They were quite the vision, the girl with flaming hair, and her head held high and a boy crawling by her side with eyes crafted of bright skies and frozen seas.


	11. Prophecy of fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aslaug sees an unsettling vision about Vanya’s and Ivar’s future.

Waking up next to Ivar became one of Vanya’s favorite things in the morning. The way the light hit his tan skin as his bare chest rose slowly to the singing of the birds in the background. It all seemed like a dream she never knew she needed in her life. She put her pale hand on his chest and felt his heart beating slowly. Her husband looked so serene and innocent sleeping. Nothing like the stories she heard of Vikings. She loved the difference.

“Why are you staring at me?” He asked groggily, making her lock gazes with him. His blue eyes still looked tired, like they needed all the rest they could get before he was ready to leave the bed. Vanya chuckled as she laid her head on his chest and smiled in delight.

“I am admiring true beauty.” Vanya teased, quoting his words from the wedding feast. Ivar rolled his eyes at her and threw his arm over her waist, drawing her closer to him. She closed her eyes and let his breathing lull her back to sleep. Unfortunately for both of them, a thrall knocked on their door, informing them that the Queen wants them to meet her in the Great hall.

The couple groaned in annoyance before Vanya rose from the bed and slipped an underdress over her naked body. She heard the thrall leave, as they were advised to do since they once entered to wake the royal duo, only to have a dagger thrown at them when Ivar was getting dresses. So since then, they dress themselves. 

Vanya put on a pale purple dress with roses on it as Ivar tied his legs together. She still hasn’t seen them bare, but she doesn’t push. It was better to let him do it at his own pace. The more patient she would be, the better, and she wasn’t that curious to see them. Different or not, they were still legs. 

“What are you doing today?” Ivar asked, getting down from the bed and crawling to her side as she braided her hair. 

Vanya looked down at her husband as she finished her little braid and smiled at him. “Brynja and I are going to the market to buy new fabrics. Do you want me to sew you something? Any special requests?" 

Ivar shook his head at her offer and told her he is going hunting with his brothers and won’t probably return till tomorrow if they decide to stay at the hunting cabin. Vanya wished him a good hunt and kissed him on the lips before they parted ways. 

She was still a little bit shaken up from yesterday’s argument. The first night they talked together, he told her she could do whatever she wanted to do. Yet, he obviously drew the line at Christianity. She didn’t care about the Christian God - he was a useless god in her eyes. His punishments were too severe, and his rules cruel. Silas always mocked her with Queen Judith of Wessex, the woman who got her ear cut off. He threatened he would do the same to her if she continued to test him. She prayed to God for mercy, but it didn’t come at all. Yet Silas was a sea away from her, and she worshipped other gods now. 

There was no place for God in her heart anymore; perhaps there never was. He was her father, God, and the possibility of him being with her even after death was beautiful. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized there never was an angel of God by her side. Silas was cruel to her, giving her bruises that took weeks to heal. And no matter how much she prayed, God did nothing. If he truly existed, he would have done something. What kind of cruel god is he if he does nothing? 

Maybe all gods are just stories told by men to justify their choices. The tales of all-powerful gods looking over them and doing incredible deeds gives them an illusion of order in this world. After all, children sleep easier, thinking someone is protecting them. Is that what her father was? A fool believing in a made-up story? 

The two sat down with the other Ragnarssons as Aslaug smiled at them, a cup of mead in her hand. "What did you want to talk about, Mother?” Ubbe asked her, not liking the suspense.

Aslaug waved her hand at him in a dismissive way and sipped from her cup. “No worries. It is good news. Some traders offered to help Floki build ships by giving him some material. The only thing they ask is that you mention their generosity to the other people who will sail with you.”

Bjorn nodded at that information and thanked her, saying he will inform Floki of it before they leave to hunt. Vanya looked at Bjorn curiously, trying to remember if he mentioned a journey. “Where are you going, Bjorn?”

The tall Viking looked at his sister in law and smiled at her proudly. “I found a map on our raid in Frankia a long time ago. I want to sail there, and Floki is building the ships for the journey.” He explained excitedly, thinking of the new things he would see when the time came. 

Vanya smiled at his excitement and wished him good luck on his journey. Apparently, the other brothers wanted to come too, and we’re still pondering who would go and who not. Hvitserk was sure he would go even if he had to sneak on the ship.

They all ate, conversing together about their plans before the boys stood up to leave. Ivar kissed Vanya’s temple and crawled away. When Vanya stood up to also go, Aslaug called her name. She mentioned for the redhead to sit next to her cause she wanted to talk. 

Vanya braced herself for the hard conversation before her and sat down on Ubbe’s earlier chair. “I am very happy for you and Ivar. And I am sorry for pressuring you. I didn’t mean it in a wrong way. I simply want you two to be happy.”

Vanya nodded at the Queen’s words appreciating the less tense atmosphere between them. "Who taught you to behave like that, Love?“

Aslaug’s words were curious yet still made Vanya pause. She didn’t know the reason behind her question; after all, why should the Queen care about it? "My father always said that people have greater importance than armies. He believed that being loved had a bigger value than being feared. I think the same. However, it is good to have both. Only love won’t win wars if the need arises.”

“Wise words. He must have been a smart man to think that. How did he die?” Aslaug questioned again, her eyes sharp as a whip. She was looking for something, that was sure. 

Vanya swallowed, thinking of her father’s pale face and bony hands as he took his last breath in his chambers. “A sudden illness took him. He suffered for a long time before he passed away.” Her tone was sad, and she could feel moisture at the corners of her eyes. Despite being dead for nearly three years, he was still a sore subject to her. 

“I am sorry, Love. But you have a new family here now. And who knows, maybe one day you and Ivar will have a family of your own if the gods bless you.” And there it was—the point of the whole conversation. Aslaug wanted grandkids. “Do you want children, Vanya?”

Vanya frowned at the question, never really thinking about it. It was expected of her as a woman to bear children. She dreamed of a handsome husband who would give her many pretty children with rosy cheeks. She did want them, but she hated that it was expected of her. Silas and Mother always reminded her that bearing Ivar’s sons was a must. But she wondered if it was possible for her to bring his children to the world. What if he couldn’t give her a child because of his affliction? What would become of her then?

“I do want children. But I–" 

"You worry if you have any with him, don’t you?” Vanya nodded at the Queen’s question in sadness. “I pray to the gods every night for you to get pregnant. I had a vision.”

The ginger looked at Aslaug in wonder. Curious blue orbs met coal lined ones in a silent order to continue. “I saw a little body with eyes as blue as the sky looking up at ravens flying over its heads. The babe’s hands wrapped around a snake’s neck in a tight grip—the frozen sea behind the child as it crawled towards a fire to warm itself. I don’t think it is a bad dream. The child is in danger, but it is a strong child. Brave and determined to survive.”

Vanya frowned at the Queen’s prophecy and nodded her head in understanding at it. “You could ask the Seer what the gods have to say about it. He will know what to tell you. But I am sure there is a child in your future." 

She hoped it was the truth; she wanted children with Ivar. But what if her child was in immense danger? The prophecy sounded anything but friendly to her, no matter what Aslaug said. A snake and a fire was anything but good in her eyes. It meant obstacles in the life of a child that wasn’t even conceived yet, and she already worried about it. What if the child died before it would grow up? Or if it died in her womb? What if the fire that was supposed to warm it would burn it instead? 

_"You are very silent today, Princess,”_ Brynja commented, worried, looking over the silks the old woman offered to them. _"Are you alright?“_

Vanya looked up from the steel blue fabric she inspected before and smiled at her servant and friend. _"Got a lot on my mind, that’s all."_ Brynja nodded her head, not truly believing the Princess but decided not to press the matter. 

After Vanya bought the fabrics, did she ask a thrall to bring them to her chambers. _"I wish to talk to you privately.”_ Brynja nodded at the whispered words and led the wife of Ivar the Boneless towards a lake in the woods. The grass looked soft while the water was clear and twinkled in the sun. The day was rather warm today for Kattegat’s usual coldness. 

The two women sat down on the grass, watching the lake, neither saying anything for some time. Vanya cast her gaze down to her lap to look at the half-moon wounds she gave herself yesterday. She trailed her thumb over the tender scars and sighed loudly. _“What do you think of Ivar? Be honest.”_

Brynja’s head snapped towards Vanya as she watched the young Princess’s blank face. Her usual honest front was replaced with a coldness that gave nothing away. She reminded the servant of Ivar at that moment. A hunter waiting for his prey to make its first move. 

_“I don’t know him that well, Vanya. I only serve you.”_ Vanya hummed at the servant’s frantic tone and looked back up at the lake. 

_“My husband’s personality worries me sometimes. I like him, that much I am sure. But his mood swings are frightening sometimes. He caught me praying, I confessed to him I prayed to the Christian god too. He got angry at that. He claims he won’t hurt me, but yet he scares me."_ Vanya explained to the woman she barely knew. It was a foolish move; she could report it back to someone. But her feelings for Ivar were no valuable information to anyone. If she told it to Aslaug, the Queen would only talk to her. Vanya was in no danger telling Brynja about her situation. _"When I was sent here, I begged my brother not to do it. I was worried my husband would kill me. So I ask you… Is my life in danger?”_

Brynja took in a shake a breath and frowned deeply. _“The Prince is mean; he isn’t very fond of his brother Sigurd, and the Queen spoils him. But I don’t think he would hurt you. Somehow you calm him. He isn’t like he used to be before. It’s not that obvious, but he is getting better. I think you should give him some time. Maybe talk to him.”_

Vanya nodded at the servant’s advice and looked back at the lake, seeing flowers drifting in the lake. She smiled at the pretty things and stood up, surprising Brynja. 

The servant looked up at the Princess, who took off her shoes and lifted her dress. _“What is your favorite flower, Brynja?”_ She tiptoed over to the edge of the lake and dipped her feet in before walking into the water.

 _“Princess! Get out of there!"_ Brynja warned, fearing for her Lady’s health from the cold lake. Yet Vanya ignored the worried shouts and walked to the flowers. When she realized that she couldn’t pick the flowers while holding her dress, she dropped the skirt and plucked the pretty flowers. 

_"Stop worrying, Brynja. Come on! What flowers do you like?"_ Vanya giggled a few Lily-of-the-valley flowers in her left hand as she walked closer to the coast to pluck more of the pretty flowers. 

Brynja smiled, watching the excited Princess enjoy herself; her white skirt floated around her as she walked over the bottom of the lake. She looked so serene and kind at that moment that marrying her to someone like Ivar seemed like a mistake. Yet the girl’s good heart and patience were a plus for the youngest Prince. _"Forget-me-not’s, my Princess. I like purple flowers."_

Vanya chuckled at the information and gathered a few of those flowers in her hands, making a bouquet for her red-haired friend and servant. The lake was cold, but she could endure the chilly water until her task was done. She loved picking flowers back in the gardens of Slegia; the flowers were always put into a vase and on her father’s table afterward. _"Are you not bored with me, Brynja?”_

Brynja shook her head at the question and watched the Princess make her way back to the shore. _“Of course not, my Lady. I like serving you more than serving in the kitchen with the thralls.”_

With Brynja’s help, Vanya crawled out of the lake and presented the curly-haired girl with her findings. Brynja thanked her and put a forget-me-not into her hair; she also put one into Vanya’s hair, complimenting the pretty Saxon on the look. The two girls left the lake in a good mood and went towards Vanya’s and Ivar’s room to change her wet dress. 


	12. Behold the bleeding star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya meets with the Seer as Aslaug advised, and she shares a moment with Ivar.

The fire crackled softly, spreading its warmth through the silent chambers. Vanya sat in a chair before her mirror brushing her fiery red hair with tears in the corners of her eyes. She has been sitting there since Brynja left her room after her bath. The Saxon’s lips trembled as she tried to hold the tears at bay. A solemn tear fell down her cheek; Vanya’s body looked calm compared to how tangled her mind was.

Ivar would not return today as the Ragnarssons stayed at the hunting cabin. So she was left all alone in her sadness and anger. Vanya wanted to scream out of frustration with her state; she wanted to become stronger here. No longer a proper weak lady held down by her family. And yet, the possibility of her future child being in danger by an enemy tore her apart from the inside. Especially when she had no idea who the enemy was. Was it from her side of the family or Ivar’s? Was it a foreign enemy? What if it was death?

How could she protect a child she didn’t even have yet? Vanya wanted to barge into Aslaug’s chambers and call her a liar, anything to deny the reality of her future. The Queen said the child would be strong, but the danger was still there. Even strong people died painful deaths. Vanya put down her brush and watched her tear-stained face in the mirror. Her eyes were red, and her lips swollen from her biting into them to stifle her whimpers. Taking a deep breath, she wiped her face and walked to the door. 

Vanya needed answers, and she would get none pitying the future. She craved a different opinion that would calm her down enough to form a plan. Everything in life is about strategy; you gain nothing in life by waiting for destiny to go its course. Always have a plan, and you will survive. That’s what her father used to say, a philosophy he followed faithfully. 

The ginger put on one of Ivar’s cloaks; it was worn out, but it would work as a means to disguise herself. She didn’t want anyone seeing her leave. So after checking if anyone was still out, did she sneak out of her and Ivar’s chambers. Vanya hurried down a path Aslaug showed her the day she arrived. The Seer’s hut.

Vanya walked inside the hut with slow steps as a cloaked figure, with his back turned to her, sat on the bed. “Behold the Bleeding Star. You are late, Princess.” The voice spoke, causing her to jump in surprise.

“W-was I supposed to come after I got married? I wasn’t told. I am sorry.” She apologized, creeping closer towards the disfigured man who turned towards her.

“I prophesied your coming a long time ago. Now ask what you want to know.” The ancient man ordered her as Vanya braced herself for what awaits her in the future. 

She cupped her hands in her lap as if in prayer and looked at him with pleading eyes. “Queen Aslaug said I would have a child with Ivar, but the child will be in danger. I want to know if it’s true? Who is the snake in its hand?”

The fire burned next to them, casting a red light over them as she pulled her hood down, knowing she was safe with the Seer. The former Christians's red hair shone brightly as the flames while her eyes were the ocean, so full of life yet so uncertain. “The Serpent will sire many children. Each born of fire and blood. They will ride under a red sun painted with the blood of the Forest King." 

Vanya sighed in frustration. "I wanted answers, not more questions! I don’t understand these riddles at all.” All that sneaking around and all she got out of it is a headache from unhelpful prophecies.

“The Gods speak in their own ways, all with be clear when the time comes. I can see great happiness and worry in your future. Yet your path has many deep pits you need to endure. Your husband, your kin, your people all will test you. And if you endure them all, you will be rewarded by the Gods.”

The Saxon frowned at the answer and chastised herself from coming here. In England, people like him were burned for heresy and sorcery, yet here she sat asking him for advice that apparently came in hard to understand riddles that you wouldn’t know until it was too late. What use were they to her then? All they would do is rob her of her sleep till she made sense of them, which would take a long time by the looks of it all. “Why would the Gods favor me? Why would anyone favor me at all?”

The Seer mentioned to the blazing fire with his hand and turned his disfigured face away from her. “The Gods chose people meant for greatness.”

“But I am not Ragnar Lothbrok or Bjorn or any of them. I was a Christian not that long ago. So why chose me? What greatness could I have in my future?”

The ancient man sighed at her persisting questions. Vanya feared he would send her away for bothering him, but all he did was look at her with his nonexistent eyes. She felt as if he looked into her soul and read each of her thoughts. “The Bleeding Star will break the night. She will bring the dawn. But the Gods demand a sacrifice in return. You will pay in blood for happiness.”

“I will not spill the blood of my enemies for some possibility of glory. If they demand blood, then I don’t want it.” Vanya spat back, her bright blue eyes as hard as ice and her face devoid of all courtesy. She would not kill to get something she obviously doesn’t deserve. Princess Vanya of Slegia, daughter of the late king Osmond and Queen Siflæd, sister to king Silas, wife of Ivar the Boneless. All of her titles had no real meaning. She was nothing without them, no lands, no coin, nothing that mattered to the people. She never had faith in God; she didn’t trust her new gods yet either. What was she worth other than a pretty face and a fertile womb?

“Not the blood of your enemies. Your blood. There is no use denying your claim. The prophecy is already in motion. You are with child." 

Vanya felt as if her heart stopped beating in her chest. All this time, she was worried about her future child, yet the future was nearer than she knew. Vanya was with child - Ivar’s child. Her mouth opened and closed in shock as she laid her palm against her stomach as if the babe would kick to confirm the news. She thanked the Seer and licked his hand as asked of her, fleeing the wretched hut that sent her mind into a spiral. 

This time, Vanya didn’t care if anyone saw her; she runs back to her chambers, slamming the door behind her and leaning her forehead against the door. She took deep breaths as sobs shook her body once again; if from happiness or sadness, she had no idea. Vanya braced herself against the door, praying to every God the Saxon knew for it all to be a dream. Vanya needed a plan to protect her child; she needed time to figure everything out first. She wasn’t ready for the child to be born yet. 

"Why are you crying?” The deep voice startled her from her misery; Vanya jerked upright and turned towards her and Ivar’s bed to see her husband, who returned late from his hunt. She sobbed pathetically and ran to his side, burrowing her face into his chest.

Uncertainly Ivar wrapped his arms around her shaking frame with a frown on his face. Vanya lifted her tearstained face and looked at the crippled Viking she married less than two weeks ago. “I met with the Seer because your mother had a vision.” She whispered, her voice trembling in fear. Ivar demanded her to tell him everything, so she did.

He said nothing the whole time, listening to the prophecies and her worries with a blank face till he was sure she finished. “I am afraid. I know I am not supposed to be scared anymore cause Vikings fear nothing. But I was born no Viking, and I am frightened. I am not worthy of any of it." 

Ivar put his calloused hand on her cheek and made her look into his eyes. "You are worth more than anyone can give you. You deserve happiness, glory, and so much more. And it doesn’t matter that you weren’t born Viking; you are braver than most. You are my wife, and I will protect you and any child we might have. I swear to you, no one will hurt either of you.”

“A child we have.”

“What?”

Vanya took a deep breath and straightened before Ivar; she needed to be strong. She was to be a mother soon. “The Seer said I am already with child.”

Ivar stiffened next to her and looked down at her flat stomach, not believing what his wife just revealed. It sounded too good to be true. Vanya is with the child; he got her pregnant. He, Ivar the Boneless, The Cripple. He would be a father. Ivar laid a shaky hand against her stomach and looked at her with soft eyes. 

“Then I swear no harm will come to you or this child. As long as I live, I will protect and cherish you both. I swear it on my arm ring and all the Norse Gods. Anyone who might harm you will die a painful death; whatever danger awaits this child, I will stop it. I will be a good husband to you and an even better father.” Vanya smiled at the sincerity of his speech and hugged him, sniffling into his neck with Ivar’s arms circled her in a protective embrace. She felt safer than ever; Brynja was right. Ivar cared for her deeply and was different from the man she met on the docks two weeks ago. And she cared for him too. And this child was the proof of that, a sign of a bright future that held more children to come. 


	13. A whole new life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Health check and pregnancy reveal

The healer was very thoughtful under Ivar’s watchful eye, ensuring both Vanya and the child in her belly are healthy. The older woman with gray hair and blue eyes confirmed the Seer's revelation. The Saxon was pregnant, still early, but there was a little life growing inside her. 

The woman warned Vanya of morning sickness, mood swings, and other things she will experience, but Vanya was deaf to it all. Luckily Ivar looked like he was listening, mostly because he cursed the woman out at least thrice after every sentence. All the young girl could think about was their future; she imagined what the child would look like and if it would be a girl or boy. She visualized the little crying babe in her arms that would smile at her, that she would nurse and love with all her love. She swore to be a good mother, better than her own had ever been. After all, she would have help from Aslaug at the beginning, so she wasn’t worried about that. Vanya couldn’t help but smile in glee at what the future held for their little family. 

The young couple left the healers hut and went to the Great Hall for lunch. Ivar kept reminding her to watch her step and glared at anyone who got too close to Vanya. If it got any worse with time, Vanya would go crazy. Wasn’t she supposed to go a little mad during pregnancy? Maybe Ivar’s covering that field so she can concentrate on the babe?

The two sat down at the table, a thrall poured Vanya’s cup with water, but she accidentally spilled a little bit on the Princess. “Watch it, you useless cow!”

“It was just water, Ivar. No harm is done.” Vanya scolded him, smiling in apology at the poor terrified thrall.

Ivar scoffed at that and glared at his wife. “What if she dropped the jug on you, huh? Did you think about that?” He accused her as Vanya shook head at his overprotectiveness. The water didn’t even hit her anywhere near her stomach; it was poured on her knee. He was overreacting.

"Are you alright, Ivar?“ Ubbe asked with a raised eyebrow watching his brother fuss. Vanya looked at him with a tired face, silently begging him for help. Yet Ivar said nothing, only glared at the table in distaste and betrayal. 

So Vanya took it into her own hands; she looked at the Queen and straightened her back as if to remind herself she had a backbone. "I talked to the Seer yesterday night, as you told me.”

Aslaug looked at the girl with one eyebrow drawn up, urging the girl to go on. She was curious about what the Seer had to say if her vision was the only thing the Gods would reveal. 

“I am with child.” The whole room grew silent; even the servants froze in their place. Hvitserk stopped eating, his spoon hanging from his lips, Ubbe sat there with wide eyes, Sigurd choked on his ale, while Bjorn blinked dumbly at the two of them. Only Aslaug seemed somehow put together, a small smirk playing on her lips as she smugly sipped her ale. Vanya had a feeling the Queen knew that already.

“A child?” Hvitserk asked, trying to make sure he didn’t mishear his sister in law.

Vanya only nodded with an excited smile. “The Seer told me so, and the healer confirmed it this morning." 

"Congratulations then, Skul!” Ubbe called out as everybody echoed his shout and drank from their cups, happy for the couple. Expect Sigurd, who looked bitter. Vanya knew that spark in his good eye all too well; he always seemed like a snake on the hunt before he insulted Ivar. “Ivar’s child?”

“Whose would it be? Do you think I would sleep with another man?” Vanya frowned at the jab glaring at the second youngest son of Ragnar. 

Sigurd only shook his head and lifted his cup to his lips; he pointed at his younger brother and smirked. “Of course not, Vanya. I would never say that. I am just surprised, little Ivar put a child in you, that’s all. It is a wonder how a cripple did it so fast.”

Ivar threw his cup at Sigurd’s head, but the other dodged the hit and smirked sneered at his brother in triumph. “Stop it, you two.” Ordered Ubbe warning his younger siblings tiredly. 

“Are you not worried the child will be like him? Poor babe.” Sigurd pressed as Ivar looked like he might climb over the table and murder his brother then and there. Vanya put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him while Aslaug scolded Sigurd. The ginger looked at the Ragnarsson in anger that the cheerful news was used to undermine Ivar. 

“It could always be worse, Sigurd. The child could have eyes like you or such a terrible personality. That would be more dreadful.” She spat back at him in a fury making the boys look at her in shock. Even Ivar sat back down in his seat, looking at his wife in admiration and wonder. She never seemed more appealing to him. 

Sigurd gaped at the Princess, who never had anything bad to say about anybody. “And what if it is a cripple like him? What will you do?”

Vanya clenched her hands in fists, her nails biting into her palm, leaving behind a sharp sting. “Then I will love the child all the same. Who cares if it can’t walk? As long as my child will be alive and happy, I don’t care. Your opinion means nothing." 

Sigurd continued staring at her, stunned, his mind not comprehending what’s happening. He was used to spitting back insults at Ivar, not Vanya throwing some back in his face. The other watched the conversation carry on, curious how it would end. "I am just trying to warn you, Vanya.” He tried regretting his earlier mocking. An angry Vanya glaring at him was unsettling. Like a baby duck going feral.

“And if you ever bring a child into this world, I will listen. But you are neither a woman nor an expert midwife. So shush. Do you have anything else to say?” Sigurd opened his mouth as if he were to retort, but Vanya left him no time. “Oh wait, I just realized I don’t care.” Ivar looked at his older brother smugly, drinking his ale in a silent victory as his wife continued her angry stare, daring the Ragnarsson to say anything. Meanwhile, the other boys looked between the arguing duo as Aslaug smiled at Vanya, wanting to diffuse the tension.

“Did he say anything about if it would be a boy or girl?” She asked excitedly, happy that her youngest son found love and gave her grandchildren. 

“No. He talked about many children and other things. But not about that.” Vanya clarified, thinking back to the sinister prophecy about her own future and the payment in blood. Aslaug beamed at that reveal, thinking of all the Ivarssons and Ivarsdottirs she would hold in her arms. 

“And what else did he talk about?” Bjorn questioned, more curious about that than any nephews or nieces Ivar might sire. 

“Vanya is meant for greatness.” Ivar bragged, holding her hand in his, grinning from ear to ear like a proud husband. Vanya shook her head at his happy tone. 

“It is not a good thing, Ivar. The Seer said the Gods would be paid in my blood. What if he meant my children? They will be my blood.” Vanya pressed back, worriedly imagining dead children with red hair and eyes as blue as a stormy sea. She shuddered at the mental picture.

Hvitserk shrugged his shoulders at that and pointed his spoon at the ginger. “Or your brother. Silas is your blood too.” Vanya dismissed the suggestion, rather not thinking about death at all. No matter how much she despised her older brother, she had no real reason to want him dead. He was far away, sitting on his throne, probably terrorizing other people now that she was gone. Silas was no longer a constant shadow in the back of her mind that made her shake in fright. He was a distant memory of what once was. 

**_Silas stood before her with his hands on his hips while Vanya sat on the floor, cradling her bruised cheek as she tasted blood in her mouth. “I am sorry, My King. I didn’t mean to.” She begged, looking at him with pleading eyes hoping to calm him. If she seemed pathetic enough to him, he would leave._ **

**_“How dare you look at me, you wench. I am your King, and you are forbidden to look into my eyes!” He barked at her, his spit flying everywhere. He looked like a rabid dog, contemplating ripping out her throat._ **

**_Vanya cast her eyes back to the floor, seeing blood drip from her lip and onto the floor. She frantically wiped at the stain with her dress, hoping Silas wouldn’t see it. “You are a waste of space! Unthankful, filthy, and stupid. Aren’t you?”_ **

**_“Yes, My King. I am terrible and pathetic. A stupid little girl who never learns.” She repeated the words he threw at her a few days ago during a lesson like this. Their father died a month ago, and at first, Vanya thought it was his way of hiding his grief. He was King now, which meant many responsibilities and stress. He had no time to mourn. Yet Silas didn’t seem to miss King Osmond at all. All he did was scream, curse, beat and humiliate Vanya while the council ruled in his stead. There was never any love lost between them, but it was never this bad._ **

**_“That you are! Thinking you could eat before I ate! Are you that mad? The King eats first! The man always eats first! How dare you eat from MY FOOD, from MY TABLE before ME! And you even talk back!” Silas raged, stomping his foot dangerously close to her hand on the ground. But Vanya didn’t dare to pull it away, fearing he would kick her for it. Every time his boot made contact with the floor, she flinched in fright. “It was just one grape, My King. I forgot myself.” Silas mocked, his voice high pitched as a mouse._ **

**_“Well, I will make sure you remember it this time!” He stomped his foot down with more strength behind it. A scream ripped out of Vanya’s mouth as he crushed her palm under him, the crunch of bones deafening to her ears._ **

Vanya jumped in her seat as the others gave her a worried glance at her pale complexion. She shook her head, smiling at them reassuringly. The ginger wanted to drink to stop the dry feeling in her mouth but didn’t trust her hands not to shake. She could feel Ivar squeeze her hand softly, trying to calm her, but it didn’t work. Silas was a monster that was still breathing in Slegia, and as long as he lived, so did the memory of her past. She hated him. But she doubted it was enough to want him dead. Yet the idea made her shoulders relax just a little bit. Had she gone mad?


	14. A wooden axe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya spends some time with Helga and Floki and finds something out.

It’s official. Vanya hates pregnancy. At first, she liked not having her monthly blood, but then came then she started eating like Hvitserk, then the vomiting, then the aching bones, then the tiredness. Now she must make water all the time, and it is so annoying. Everything is real. Even the way Bjorn breaths during meals is driving her insane.

Ivar has been very overprotective, which in turn makes Vanya very angry. No matter how much Aslaug and Torvi reassure her it’s normal, Vanya is pretty sure her hair will go gray by the time the child is born.

To ease the tension, Ubbe asked Helga and Floki if they would spend some time with her while he took Ivar hunting. Bless that boy because that’s what the married couple needed, some breathing space very far away from each other.

And the Saxon liked Helga, she had not seen the nice woman in a long time, and her only company nowadays was the Queen, the Ragnarssons, and Brynja. The poor girl was threatened by Ivar, who always trailed them whenever Vanya wanted fresh air, that if anything happened to his wife, Brynja would pay for it with her life. He was overdramatic, like always. But she still cared for him nonetheless.

So now here she is picking berries with Helga, while Bjorn and Floki talked about ships outside. The oldest Ragnarsson was ordered to go with her by Ivar to keep her safe. As if somebody might attack her on her way here. _“Are these poisonous or not?”_

 _“No, those are alright. It’s the red ones that are bad. Do you not have Fläders in England?”_ Helga asked her with her hands full of berries. She dumped the small dark blue fruit into the basket, set down by Vanya’s feet.

Vanya plucked the blueberries from the low hanging branches. _“We do. I am sure I saw them in the gardens. I just never ate them. But we call them Elderberries.”_ The ginger explained to the Viking, the sounds of the wild calming her headache instantly. Maybe she just needed some time away from the Great Hall, as Ubbe said.

The blonde woman walked towards Vanya and showed her a weird root and mint leaves. _“Ivar said you get sick in the mornings. Maka tea out of these, and it will help. Peel the ginger and cut it into small pieces, and then pour warm water on both.”_

Vanya looked at the kind blonde in adoration; she was truly godsent. The redhead thanked her before they took the full basket and moved back to Helga’s and Floki’s hut. They could hear the boatbuilder and Ragnarsson talking near the fire while the two women walked around the kitchen. Helga showed her all sorts of remedies made from plants. It was so fascinating for the Princess to see how much meaning every plant really held. Every plant was of use and help, even the poisonous ones if you thought about it.

The ginger was delighted with learning so much from the woman Ivar saw as a second mother. She was so kind-hearted and shy; it reminded me a little bit of herself. Maybe Vanya and Ivar are the second comings of Helga and Floki. The two slightly crazy Vikings, who love the Norse Gods with all their heart, and the two kind women who love them nonetheless no matter how much pain they might bring them.

Vanya froze in the middle of cutting carrots for a stew. Did she love Ivar? Until now, the redhead liked him and cared for him, yet never did she call it love. Vanya loved the way he was around her, the sweet, caring man who worried for her and their child, even if he went overboard with it at times. She loved the way she felt safe in his arms, but sometimes she feared him because of his temper.

But she felt stupid. Ivar was cruel and angry, but never did he threaten to hurt her. The only time he was mad at her was because of her faith. Well, her father’s faith. She didn’t believe in God, but she clung to the stories she was taught as a child. He couldn’t expect her to forget everything so fast. She didn’t pray like a Christian anymore; she spoke to the Norse Gods now, asking them to keep her child safe.

He cared for her, too, not because he had to, but because he chose to. And she loved that as well. But did Vanya love Ivar himself? Not just the safety and the child he gave her? Could she truly fall for a man that fast?

Helga looked up from the pot of stew when the chopping noises stopped and looked at the ginger. The said Girl stared blankly at the wall, too deep in thoughts to hear Helga call her name. _“Vanya? Vanya, are you alright?”_

The Saxon shook her head to clear her thoughts and smiled at her in reassurance. _“Sorry, I was thinking. That’s all.”_ Helga nodded with her own little smile on her lips and returned to her work as the sound of careful and slow chopping of carrots continued behind her. She stirred the pot, smelling the aroma of her cooking; she lifted the wooden spoon to her lips to taste the stew. _“How do you know so much about children, Helga?”_ The spoon fell from the blonde’s hands and hit the floor.

Vanya ran to her side and apologized frantically, thinking she said something wrong. “It’s alright…” Helga said softly, picking the spoon up. She inspected the utensil in silence before she looked at the worried blue eyes of Ivar’s wife. _“I had a daughter. Angrboda. A fever took here when she was three.”_

 _“I am so sorry, Helga. I didn’t know. I am so sorry.”_ Vanya apologized as tears gathered in the older woman’s eyes. She should have kept her mouth shut; it tore at her heart to see such a gentle person suffer.

Yet Helga shook her head and wiped her tears away, smiling a sad smile. _“I do miss her, but it is not your fault.”_ The brave Viking stood back up and brightened her smile; she looked like the sun, so bright and warm. _“I am sure you will be a great mother, Vanya.”_

The Saxon shook her head and walked back to the table, but all the carrots were finished. So she couldn’t hide behind a meaningless task. _“I don’t know what a good mother looks like. Expect you. And the Queen.”_

Helga chuckled and put her hand on Vanya’s shoulder. _“That means you will have help. And you are a good person, with lots of love in her heart. A person like that can’t be a bad mother.”_ The reassurance was a nice thing, yet Vanya wasn’t so sure she could be a good mother. Her own was distant and turned a blind eye to anything that displeased her.

**_“Stop dreaming, child. You are of royal blood. Love was never an opinion. You don’t have to love that man. All you have to do is stand by his side, smiling and carry and raise his children. You never have to love him. Only love your children. In that, you will have no choice.”_ **

Did Queen Siflæd love her children, or did she just say it to make her shut up? It was a wonder if a woman like her ever knew love. She was married off at sixteen to an older man; she bore him a son because she had to. But she said she used to love him until he slept with another woman—a servant when Silas was four and Siflæd too sick from pregnancy to satisfy him herself. She grew to resent him, and after Vanya was born, she resented both her children also. Now all Siflæd cares about is looking her best while enjoying the freedom to sleep with whoever the Queen wanted to. And the church, for a woman of her past, she is a devoted Christian.

Did she ever love anyone? Truly? Blindly? She didn’t mourn her husband; she ignored her children and changed her suitors too fast to truly love them. Vanya didn’t want to be anything like her. Her mother was wrong. She loves Ivar! She loves everything about him, inside and out. Vanya doesn’t have to be the best mother, as long as she will be better than Siflæd.

 _“I am sure my child will be very loved. So many people love it already, and it is not even born yet. Queen Aslaug is very excited; sometimes, she is worse than Ivar. A few days ago, she wouldn’t let me see the orphan children, said they could bump into my belly and could lose my child.”_ Vanya explained, remembering Aslaug’s nervous attitude anytime Vanya stood up from the table and wanted to move somewhere.

Helga chuckled at the explanation as she made Vanya taste the stew. _“She is very eager to have a babe in her arms again. She didn’t want to have anymore after Ivar was born so that she could care for him. And now that he will be the first to give her a grandchild, she must be overjoyed.”_

The two women carried the pot outside and called Floki and Bjorn over to eat. They ate in partial silence, sometimes breaking it to talk of Bjorn’s plans. He seemed so determined to explore that foreign place it made her excited with him. She hopes he will be successful on his raid and see the world.

 _“I got a gift for you, Christian.”_ Floki suddenly said, standing up and walking away. Vanya looked at Bjorn in question, but the tall Viking only shrugged. Helga smiled as Floki walked back with something wrapped in a cloth.

She took the bundle from his hands and slowly opened it, scared of what she might find. Floki still wasn’t that fond of her after Ivar told him he caught her praying. Inside the cloth laid a small wooden axe with beautiful carvings on it. On one side of the blunt wooden blade were Odin’s two wolves Geri and Freki, while on the other was the Lothbrok raven. A serpent was carved around the handle, its jaws swallowing the axes head. Vanya looked up from the breathtaking craft to look at the giddy Viking. _“This is beautiful, Floki. A piece of art.”_

_“It is my gift for the child, a toy. Every man should have an ax. Especially if your father is so fond of them.”_

_“And what if it will be a girl?”_

Floki scoffed at that and pointed at the ax again. _“Girl or not, she can fight. She will need a real one if she wants to be around boys one day. To fend off Ivar away from killing them.”_ He giggled, happy that the ginger liked the gift he made with a lot of care.

Vanya ran her fingers over the wood, appreciating the masterpiece that laid in her hands. Never could she think that a weapon could look so pretty. She tested the grip on it, noting the lightness of it. It felt good to hold it in her hand, so different from what she imagined a weapon to be like. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the only toy that changed it. Or it was something else. Perhaps all her prayers to be a brave Viking were coming true. She looked up at Floki and thanked him a thousand times till he halfheartedly told her to shut up.


	15. You are my everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some pregnancy fluff, cute Ivar and good future grandma Aslaug.

Vanya walked the streets with Aslaug by her side, as Brynja was off today cause her father grew sick. The two women walked by the forge where Ivar hammered steel and watched them pass by. Aslaug chuckled at his antics and apologized on his behalf. Vanya liked this side of Aslaug. 

Mostly when she saw the Queen, she had a cup in hand or asked her intrusive questions. But ever since her belly grew bigger, Aslaug held back on the alcohol. She spent more time with Vanya and shared tales from her own pregnancies. The Queen of Kattegat also told her of Ragnar. Vanya decided she wasn’t that fond of the man who left his infant son in the woods to die. What kind of monster would do that? He didn’t raise any of his sons properly; Bjorn left with his mother, and Ragnar abandoned his other sons. Vanya may not know his motives or him, but she felt for the Ragnarssons.

“When you are more along, we can find out if it will be a girl or boy. Or do you want it to be a surprise?” Aslaug questioned curiously, looking down at the cheerful redhead.

Vanya pursed her lips in thought before smiling. “I think I want it to be a surprise. Did you know they would be all boys?”

Aslaug nodded, seeing Hvitserk walking with Ubbe while stuffing his face till he looked like a squirrel. Ubbe shook his head at his brother’s antics and lightly his him over his head, and Hvitserk hit him back. “The Seer told Ragnar he would have many sons, and they told me I would bear them. I would have like a daughter too, but the gods didn’t grant me that. But now I have you, Love.”

Vanya smiled proudly at the praise, feeling like she finally belonged somewhere. The Queen was more of a mother than Siflæd ever was, the Ragnarssons were like brothers to her who teased and supported her, and Helga and Floki were like an uncle and aunt. The people loved and greeted her every time they saw her, congratulating her on her baby and wishing her luck. Vanya found a home.

A child ran up to the two and held up a bunch of flowers for Vanya. The ginger beamed at the little girl and carefully took the flowers from her. "Thank you very much, Selby. They are beautiful. How are you?“ She slowly crouched down to the girl’s height as the cute three-year-old told her how they played at the beach, and she fell into the water. Vanya laughed at the girl’s expressions and hand motions before the other children run to them too.

"Princess!" They screamed happily, asking her if the baby was ok if it kicked and if it would look like her or Ivar. "I hope it will be kissed by fire like you. I like red hair!" Vanya agreed with the seven-year-old boy with a wooden sword thinking of little Ivar’s with red hair. It was a funny sight, indeed. 

The children felt afterward, and Aslaug helped Vanya stand, smirking at the lively Princess. "You are already great with children. You will be a good mother, no problem." 

They continued on their walk, walking by the shore in silence, both content with the calm atmosphere. "I would like to visit some farmers soon, thank them for all their hard work. Brynja mentioned a few farmers were having trouble with crops; I would like to see them and help them if needed.”

“It is still baffling to me how much you interact with the people. Your King and Queens are not known for their kindness. At least not here.” Aslaug’s voice was so flat and calm; it surprised Vanya. 

“That is true; not many care about anything but the crown. But were are not in England. Here you don’t sit on a throne and look down on them. You are amongst them, see them, hear them. It is only right we help them, show them we are not so different, and I am hoping it will make them forget I was a Christian once.” Vanya confessed, embarrassed about the last bit. She wanted to fit in with the Northmen, not be a foreigner who they have to respect cause she married their prince. 

Aslaug chuckled at the confession and took Vanya’s hand in hers. “I came here pregnant while Ragnar was still married to Lagertha. She left, and Ragnar married me to legitimize Ubbe and all our other sons. I was a foreign Princess with nothing but a child in my belly, and yet, now I am the Queen of the trading center of Norway. You may be a foreign Princess, but that will change one day. The Gods always smile on brave women.”

Vanya’s smile was one of joy and pride; even her eyes reflected her emotions, exposing them for all to see. Aslaug was right; back home, Vanya was just a sheltered sister to the King; here, she could be amongst the people, help them, find a place in the world for herself. Vanya wouldn’t remain a foreigner for long; she could feel it in her bones.

The Princess returned to her chamber when the moon was high up in the sky, and one could hardly see in front of them. She and Aslaug got carried away talking and forgot to return sooner. They spoke of Aslaug’s home, Götaland, of Harbard, who took away Ivar’s pain and the Ragnarssons childhoods. Vanya told her about her father, negligent mother, cruel brother, and all he put her through. They comforted each other till the sun went down, and the winds grew colder.

Ivar sat at the table with his back to her, pouring a cup of mead to calm his nerves with his missing mother and wife. Vanya crept up to him and put her hands around his neck, startling him. “What are you doing?” He asked, his shoulders tense coldly.

“My hands are cold,” Vanya whined, grinning cheekily at his discomfort.

“I can feel that.” Ivar pulled Vanya’s hands away and sent her to sit down on her chair near the fire. He took her small hands into his and rubbed them hoping to warm them up faster. “How was your walk with mother?”

Vanya gave him a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through him. He loved whenever she smiled at him, especially if she smiled because of him. It made him feel loved. “She is a great woman. A little bit pushy, but at least I know where you get it from.”

“I am not pushy.” He grumbled, pouting as Vanya giggled at his expression. 

“Of course not.” The ginger teased, standing up from the chair and walking to the bed. Ivar watched her go; putting his cup down, he followed her. He untied his legs and took off his shirt while Vanya changed into a nightgown. It was no wonder that she got cold; her dress was warm. It was pink with long white sleeves and a belt tied around her waist. He complained about the last part this morning, but his mother reassured him it didn’t matter. She said the babe would be fine. 

Yet Ivar still feared for the babe; what if something happened? What if Vanya lost it? Or worse, what if it was born like him? He didn’t want his son or daughter to know what the life of a cripple might be like. The laughter, the loneliness, the hate you feel towards yourself. Ivar’s child should be healthy, run, and play with the other children, like Ivar himself never could. So he worried, not only for the child but for Vanya herself. Aslaug was in incredible pain giving birth to him; he was the worst of the pregnancies and births she had. He didn’t wish that kind of pain upon his wife. What if she didn’t survive that kind of pain, bled too much, and lost her life? He couldn’t carry on without her. Ivar depended upon her love, touch, smiles; he couldn’t lose either of them. 

A hand on his cheek snapped him out of his thoughts; his wife stood before him in a white spotted nightgown, looking worried. “I am fine. Get in bed; let’s warm you two up.” So Vanya slowly crawled into bed, her back against the headboard. She moved awkwardly, not used to the growing bump. Her back and breast ached sometimes, but at least she no longer vomited, which she was very happy about. His loving wife had a way of finding the silver lining within everything; no matter what, everything had a bright side. 

She put her hand on her belly and smiled at Ivar with her brows furrowed. “Come feel.” The ginger whispered, pulling his hand towards her stomach. Ivar’s shaky hand moved over the bump as the babe moved while Vanya watched his face. His mouth twitched, and she was pretty sure he was fighting a smile. 

“It’s so exciting; Aslaug said it would kick next month.” She beamed her hand on top of his caressing one. He looked so content sitting there next to her, feeling the life they created together move inside her. He allowed the smile to be visible, or maybe he wasn’t even aware that he was smiling at all. Vanya watched him in his content state; he looked so at peace, relaxed, and calm. Her own eyes were dropping sleepily, so she laid down and fell asleep. 

Ivar couldn’t sleep just yet. The babe still moved inside, and he couldn’t help but feel it move. It reassured him their child was alive and alright. “You will be glorious, my child. I can feel it. You better take after your mother, her smile, her mind, and heart.” He laid his head next to Vanya’s stomach and watched the bump as the child stilled.

“No one will hurt either of you. You are safe here, with your family. You will be loved and protected, like no other child in history.” He laid his forehead against his sleeping wife’s belly and closed his eyes. “You and your mother are my everything. All I have and all I am is yours.”

A hand tangled itself into his hair as he sobs shook his body. “I love you, Ivar Ragnarsson.” The sixteen-year-old Viking looked up at his smiling wife, who also held tears in her eyes. He crawled up to her side and connected their lips in a sweet kiss. They rest their foreheads against each other, looking into their eyes. A sea at storm meets the sky in the spring. One corner of Vanya’s lips lifts as Ivar whispers the words back to her with sincerity and vulnerability. She snorts out a laugh that Ivar mirrors. It took four months, but they finally know the truth. They love each other, and nothing can or will change that. Not Sigurd, not Silas, not their faith or anybody. They are both whole.


	16. The first letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more fluff, and an ominous message.

“I get that you want attention, my Little Venn, but your mother is sleeping." Vanya smiled at the raspy voice of her husband as a hand rubbed her five-month bump. She trailed her hand up Ivar’s bare chest and looking into his sheepish blue eyes.

"She would be if somebody didn’t wake her up. But you are forgiven.” The young princess smiled sleepily, kissing her handsome husband on the lips. Ivar drew back and looking at her; her red hair shone thanks to the sunlight hitting it from the window, her eyes were droopy, and her tired smile contagious. 

“Lucky me then.”

Vanya chuckled at his remark and kissed his brow, her lips lingering there, too tired to move just yet. Ivar pulled her closer to his side with an arm around her shoulders; his other trailed to her hand on his chest. Vanya intertwined their fingers together and played with his worn hand from years of dragging himself around. 

The child inside her moved around gingerly, too awake to let Vanya rest. She felt quite comfortable like this even though the babe was restless; the redhead felt at peace in Ivar’s arms, safe and sound from any dangers to come. She had it all wrong in the beginning; Ivar’s rage and mood swings aren’t a danger to her; they are a danger to others. To those who wish to harm her or their Little Venn, and she drew strength from him. 

Vanya sighed in content as she drew her Ivar’s intertwined hands up into the ray of sunlight above them. She watched the light dance on their skin as they both slowly woke up. The princess felt Ivar’s eyes on her, so she met his gaze to see love and adoration in them. So soft and vulnerable as they always were when they were alone, and he didn’t have to be guarded and mean. “I love you, Hjertet mitt (My heart)." 

Ivar’s face lit up in happiness at her confession as he cupped her face in his hand and gazed into her lovely eyes. "Min dyrebare (My precious).” The two slowly rolled out of bed and got ready against their will, which pleaded them to stay in bed and enjoy the presence of each other for the rest of the day. Vanya put on a blue dress with dark teal long sleeves. While Ivar put on his clothes and tied his legs, the princess braided her hair into a crown.

The two made their way to the Great Hall, where Hvitserk, Ubbe, and Sigurd sat together talking about something. By the heated looks Hvitserk sent towards the thralls, Vanya suspected they were talking about Margrethe. And by the girl’s nervous and bashful looks, the Saxon was right. “Look who is finally up. How is the child?" 

Vanya smiled at Ubbe’s question and put a hand on her stomach. "Were restless this morning. I hope it will calm down soon. Otherwise, I will have to spend the whole day in bed again." 

"Oh, I am sure Ivar wouldn’t mind at all.” Hvitserk teased; in exchange, Vanya threw a piece of bread at him that he caught in his mouth and grinned in victory. Ubbe chuckled at their antics and pointed at Ivar. “If it is like Ivar, then you won’t get any rest at all. He moved around a lot too when Mother was pregnant.”

“At least I know who to blame now.” Vanya sighed, giving Ivar a halfhearted glare that he paid back with a kiss to her knuckles. He always held her hand at the table now, especially whenever Sigurd opened his mouth. 

“Morning.” Aslaug greeted them, sitting down, and ordered the thralls to pour her ale. Something was bothering her by the pinched look on her face, and when Bjorn came in later looking agitated, the others wanted answers.

Bjorn sat down on Vanya’s left and gave her a letter. “This came by raven at dawn. It has Slegia’s seal on it.” Vanya’s hands froze as soon as the words left Ragnarsson’s mouth. Under her index finger was a bumpy surface. When she turned the letter over, she could see the red wax seal of Slegia - a sun. It has been the sigil of their kingdom for over a hundred years since her ancestor won the property in a tourney and named himself king. Her ancestor Slegc, the First King, laid the last stone of his kingdom during a sunset that painted the sky red, so he put the red sun on a black cloth and named it his sigil.

Now that simple sigil fills Vanya with dread; if Silas is writing to her, it must be something dire. Imagines of her dead mother or kingdom at war flashed in her mind while her hands shook. “Vanya, you don’t have to read it.” Sigurd’s voice cut her from her thoughts; she looked at the concerned faces of her new family and smiled at them reassuringly.

“A letter can’t harm me.” It was more of a reminder for her than for them. She broke the seal and opened the letter to reveal her brother’s neat handwriting. “Dear sister, I write to you in hopes that you are alright. Not a day has passed that I didn’t think of you and your wellbeing.”

Sigurd and Ivar snorted at the blatant lie Silas wrote, yet Vanya continued reading, fearing if she dared to stop, she wouldn’t find the courage to start again. “Mother’s array of visitors has allowed us to strengthen our forces. You might also be happy to know that King Ecbert offers us support if any of the other opposing kingdoms dares to attack us. We were all very worried about you since there has been no news from you since your wedding five months ago. So we were all delighted to hear that you are not only well, but also with child. I wish you and your husband a healthy child and a happy marriage. To reassure myself and Mother of your wellbeing, I will visit you when time allows it.” Vanya swallowed the foul taste on her tongue as her hands trembled.

“With all my love, King Silas of Slegia, son of Kind Osmond, first of his name.” Vanya slowly set the letter back down at the table and looked at the Ragnarssons and Aslaug in worry. 

“How does he know you are with child?” Ivar asked, his brows knitted together in anger. Vanya shrugged as she squeezed his hand in fear, her face as pale as snow with her eyes glassy.

Bjorn slammed his cup down on the table and glared at his plate. “There must be a spy here. That’s the only way; we never announced the pregnancy to anyone outside Kattegat.”

“It could have been merchants as well. They could have mentioned it in England, and words travel fast. It may have reached Silas within a week.” Aslaug pointed out, ordering Margrethe to refill her empty cup. 

“It doesn’t matter how they know; what matters is that he wants to come here. I don’t get why. What are his intentions?” Sigurd asked, staring at the letter like it personally offended him. He heard enough about Silas to know the man was no good. 

Ivar slammed his hand against the wood and snarled like an angry beast. “He means to make sure it is mine, of course. He chose me because I am a cripple; now that Vanya is with child, he is in danger. But if it is a bastard, it would benefit him.”

“Why should he care about that?” Hvitserk asked curiously, not understanding the point. How could an unborn child endanger a king a land away? 

Something clicked in Vanya’s mind, connecting Ivar’s statement to what she knew of her brother. “A girl wouldn’t, but a son might. If I bear a son, he would have a claim to Slegia’s throne. Silas has no child yet, and with his disinterest in finding a wife, there might never be one. But his nephew would have a claim to the throne, and if he wished to, he could take the crown from him and any heirs he might have.”

“That’s why he mentions the armies and King Ecbert; it’s a threat. And now that he knows his plan of choosing Ivar didn’t work, he wants to make sure if the child is a danger to him or not.” Bjorn agreed, sighing in anger and exhaustion. Silas showing up to snoop around with an army would delay his journey to the Meditteranean greatly. 

Ivar scoffed and crumbled the offending letter throwing it to the ground while Vanya sat there unmoving, looking at the empty space. All her earlier illusions of safety were pitiful; she thought that she was safe with Silas so far away. But he kept on destroying her life even now. “We will keep all warriors and shieldmaidens here; I can ask Mother for support if we need it. She will be happy to help us when it comes to a pregnant woman. The question is, when will he come?” Bjorn uttered, thinking of ways to protect Kattegat, the people, Vanya, and his nephew all at once.

“Well, that’s a good question. But Silas offers no answer. /I will visit you when time allows it./ What does that mean?” Ubbe urged, pointing at the crumpled letter on the ground. 

“It means he wants us to worry, which is what we mustn’t do. Especially you Love, it is bad for your child. Let us take care of all that.” Aslaug reassures Vanya smiling at the scared ginger, but Vanya shook in disagreement.

“Silas is my brother; he is threatening my child and me.” The Saxon explained, thinking of her brother’s sneer and her bruises and foul words she received from him over the years. 

Hvitserk shrugged his shoulders, trying to find a silver lining in the whole thing to reassure his brother and sister in law. “What if it isn’t a threat at all?”

“And what would it be then, Hvitserk? What do you think he will do if the child is a boy? Do you think he will ignore it and sail away? Killing my child would put an end to any problems that the child might cause for him!” Vanya hated the way it sounded, but Ivar was right. Silas won’t ignore any threats to his crown; he killed people for less. An unborn child or a babe at his mother’s breast wouldn’t be that hard to kill. She shuddered at the image and leaned against Ivar for support while laying her hands on her belly.

Ivar pulled his wife closer and rubbed her sides to calm her frantic heartbeat. He was terrified for them both, which made him angry. How was he supposed to protect them? He couldn’t fight and kill Silas; he was no good on the battlefield without any legs. 

“They will ride under a red sun painted with the blood of the Forest King,” Vanya said sullenly, remembering the prophecy that sometimes haunted her dreams. “The red sun is Slegia’s sigil.”

“Does that make Silas the King of the Forest?” Sigurd questioned, amused by the irony if it was true.

Vanya nodded to their surprise as she looked at them with newfound hope. “Silas means forest! It was never about a King of the forest; it was about the meaning.”

“That’s nice and all, but does the prophecy say anything about how we kill him?” Bjorn insisted, not that satisfied with the reveal. 

Ubbe groaned at the lack of answers and looked at his mother. She has the gift of foresight; maybe she saw something. But Aslaug shook her head, noting to pray to the Gods for answers later on. “We know that the snake that the child holds in its hand is Silas. And the Seer said that the price for greatness is Vanya’s blood. Silas is Vanya’s blood as well. The prophecy is about him, and it ends in victory that much is certain.”

Vanya exhaled slowly to steady; her nerves shook her head. “He said that I need to endure, not that I will win. Or that Silas is the asked prize.” The room was quiet and solemn as they tried to think of answers for the oncoming danger. 

“Whatever it is… We will protect you.” Ubbe promised as the others agreed. But it did little to reassure her; Silas was a risk she didn’t want to take. But one thing was sure; he needed to die, or she would never be free. 


	17. The Harbinger of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya has nightmares because of Silas, but one of them chills her to the core. What if it isn’t a dream at all?

Screams were all around her, tearing at her eardrums. Their pain was so deafening, Vanya wanted to cover her ears. But she couldn’t; all she could do was stand there and watch them all burn. Everything was swallowed by fire, as the smell of burning flesh filled her lungs. Tears gathered in her eyes from the lack of clear air while she gasped for breath.

A man walked out of the flames, clad in a cloak that hid his face. The fires didn’t touch him as the stranger mover towards her; she wanted to move back but couldn’t. Her feet were rooted to the ground as the man advanced to her. The screams grew louder till it was all she could hear, and the smell of burned flesh was all she could smell. Tears streamed down Vanya’s face as the stranger grew nearer.

“Find the Harbinger of death! Find the Harbinger of death! Find the Harbinger of death! Find the Harbinger of death!” The screams chanted till they faded into whispers that stopped when the stranger reached out to touch her. “Find me.”

Vanya sat up from the bed with a gasp, a hand on her chest to ground herself. “Are you alright, Hjertet mitt (My heart)? What’s wrong?” Ivar’s hand stroked her head and back as Vanya caught her breath.

“A bad dream.” She mumbled, looking down at her lap; she put both her hands on her stomach where her child kicked. “Just a bad dream.”

Ivar drew his wife closer and kissed her forehead as he held her in his arms. Vanya stared out of the window to make sure the world wasn’t on fire like in her dream. She has been having nightmares since the letter came. Sometimes, Silas arrived with a battle fleet slaughtering Kattegat; other times, Vanya miscarried before he hit the shores. And once, she dreamt of a thrall slicing her throat in Silas’s name while Ivar slept. But Vanya never dreamt of a dream like this.

“You look pale, sister,” Hvitserk commented at the table, looking at the redhead. She was pale, with dark rings under her bloodshot eyes. Her hands trembled, and she needed help walking for fear of falling.

“Another bad dream, that’s all. I will try to catch some sleep later. I promised to visit the farmers again; they wish to thank me for giving them a few thralls to help with the harvest. It would be impolite to refuse.” Vanya explained, washing down a piece of bread down with water. She had trouble keeping anything down these days, but the healers advised her to eat for the baby.

Ivar held her shaking hand in his looking at her in concern. He didn’t look any better than she did; his hair was a mess from running his hands through it all the time, his eyes bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles just like Vanya’s. Every time she woke up, he woke up too and didn’t fall asleep until she did.

“It would be unwise to do that. You are in no condition to go anywhere like this. You look like you are one step away from death.” Sigurd spat, glaring at Ivar, who didn’t say anything. He tried to talk her out of it yesterday, which lead to an argument and Vanya crying herself to sleep. Yet, she still wanted to visit the farmers, no matter what points he made.

“What are the dreams about, Love? Still the same?” Aslaug questioned in a soft tone, worried for her daughter in laws sanity and the life of the babe. Vanya shook her head and looked at the Queen with fearful eyes.

“This one was different. I saw Hell.”

“Hel? You saw Helheim?” Ubbe asked, his brows knitted together, but Vanya shook her head again.

“No… I saw Hell. Christian Hell. With the eternal fire and dying screams of sinners. I stood before the flames, and I couldn’t move. The voices screamed at me to find someone. But he was right there, in a cloak, he had paint on his face like Floki. And he kept walking towards me, when he nearly touched me I woke up.” The hall was silent as everyone looked at Vanya, disturbed by her dreams. Usually, they comforted her, saying they were just dreams, and they wouldn’t let them become real. But this had nothing to do with Silas.

Aslaug swallowed her ale and slowly set the cup on the table. She looked at Vanya’s shaking frame and Ivar trying to comfort her. Her heart ached for her son and his wife. "What did the voices scream at you?“

"To find the Harbinger of death. Over and over.” Well, that didn’t sound optimistic at all. The nightmare was anything but comforting.

“I will talk to the Seer; you will rest. We will inform the farmers of your bad health and apologize in your name. The healers will give you something to sleep.” Aslaug ordered, walking away from the table to order the healers and talk to the Seer like she said she would. Ubbe helped Vanya walk to her and Ivar’s chambers as Ivar dragged himself behind them.

The healer walked into the room with a cup that she made the princess drink. Ivar tucked the ginger in and laid down beside her to watch over her and catch some rest himself. “I am sorry, Ivar. I am a burden to you and everyone.”

“You are not a burden. You are my wife and the mother of my child. I love you, and if you are hurting, so am I. Now sleep, Hjertet mitt (My heart). I will be here when you wake.” Vanya closed her eyes and let the silence and darkness swallow her tired body. Soon enough, she was asleep, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

Vanya sat on a field filled with Spider Lilies; the sun was setting, casting a red glow. Vanya sat there in her white spotted nightgown, her feet care and her hair falling over her shoulders. A cold breeze swept her hair out of her face while horses could be heard nearby.

Suddenly the flowers all withered around her as the air grew cold, and the sun went down. Snow fell around her as the sea hit the shores as if to reach her and drown her. “They wish to have you.” Vanya spun around to meet the cloaked stranger once again. He stood before her, looking at her with hard eyes.

“Who?”

“The sea. The ice. Death. They all pray for your end. Especially your brother.” The man squatted before her as the winds made her shiver from the cold. Her eyes locked with his in a silent argument.

She exhaled and stared at him with hard eyes, all earlier fear gone. He wasn’t here to hurt her, that much she knew. “Getting me would mean getting my child. I won’t let them take my child.”

The man smirked at her tone and stood up. He walked around her and pointed at the sea. Vanya turned towards the raging waters and waited for him to say something. “Prove it. Don’t drown, Vanya. And I will find you. You must give me time, you can’t drown, or my journey to you will be for nothing.”

“Why do I dream of you?”

The man snorted a laugh and looked at the confused princess over his shoulder. “To tell you all this. I had to make a lot of blood sacrifices to see you. So don’t waste it.”

The sun rose, the flowers came to life once again, the sea stilled, and the wind became calm and warm. “Stop being afraid. Use that fear like a weapon, and no one will harm you are your child. Be a mother, Vanya, not a coward.”

This time Vanya didn’t wake up shaking and gasping for air. She felt calm. The princess turned her head to her left to look at Ivar’s sleeping form, holding her hand in his sleep. She smiled at his peaceful expression and kissed his forehead. All her talk of drawing courage from him, it was stupid of her. She needed to find her own strength, not feed off of his hard-earned one. Vanya was required to be more than an afraid princess; she needed to protect her child.

And the only way to do that was to kill Silas. If Silas wished her dead, then so will she. But Vanya will succeed. For all the scars, bruises, and shame he gave her, for every time he made her cry, scream, and fear him. For wanting to kill her child after he married her off to get rid of her. Silas will pay for it all with blood.

Vanya stood up from their bed and walked towards the window to see the people standing around in a crowd. “They made a sacrifice to Freyja for you to get better,” Aslaug said, walking into their room and towards her.

“Did you ask the Seer?” She questioned, not looking at the Queen. Vanya gazed at the folk of Kattegat with their worried faces praying for her and her child. They loved her, out of their own free will.

“He said you would know who he was and what the dream meant,” Aslaug explained, observing the girl before her. Her skin regained some color, and her bloodshot eyes were better, filled with determination instead of doubt and fear.

The blue orbs that reminded her of frozen over water turned towards Aslaug. Vanya’s face was hard and stoic. “It means death.”

“Yours? Your babes?” The Queen pressed on her body, filled with dread. Last, she had been this afraid and angry Harbard betrayed her.

“Not if I have a say in it. I won’t let anyone harm my child.” Aslaug nodded at the cold tone of her daughter in law. The growth was incredible, from a fearful Christian praying to leave this place or die to a strong Viking mother. Silas sent her to the savages to break her and get rid of her, hoping she will die. Yet all he did was make her stronger, and Aslaug was proud of that, proud of her daughter.

“So, it means Silas’s death,” Aslaug stated, to which Vanya nodded. It was decided. But they can’t let him expect Vanya’s plan; he must remain obvious to everything until the time is right. And then, he will get what he deserves.


	18. A greedy fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanya is now eight months pregnant and Silas finally arrives. He is in for a big surprise.

Ever since the sacrifice to Freyja, Vanya had no dreams of Silas or the stranger. If it was thanks to the goddess or her newfound courage, Vanya had no clue. But she didn’t care either way. She was no eight months pregnant, and more pressing matter to worry about then why she is finally getting sleep.

A fisherman spotted ships on the horizon bearing the red sun of Slegia. Which meant Silas is nearly here, so she must be ready. Brynja and Margrethe helped Vanya dress and did her hair to greet her brother at the shore. _“The pink one or the red one?”_

 _“Pink.”_ Margrethe nodded at the order and laid the dress out on Ivar’s and Vanya’s bed as Brynja helped her out of her sleeping gown. Ivar was already in the Great Hall talking to his brothers and mother about the precautions against Silas. 

Vanya stared out of the window of their chambers to watch people pass by in a hurry. She exhaled loudly and stood up from the chair with great difficulty. Nowadays, the ginger needed help getting up and rested her legs a lot. Sigurd joked to her that she is now equal to Ivar, the heavily pregnant one and the cripple. What a pair they are.

 _“Are you sure? You could stay in bed and rest; we could tell him you are ill."_ Brynja asked, worried, seeing the pale complexion her princess spotted. But the said girl only shook her head and pushed her shoulders back with her head held high. 

_"It is alright. I just have to do what Sigurd told me. Walk proudly with death in my eyes."_ Brynja and Margrethe raised both an eyebrow at the tidbit of information, thinking of Ivar and his angry expression all the time. 

Brynja chuckled at the fierce look in Vanya’s eyes. _"You have been practicing, Vanya. You already look terrifying for someone with a heart as big as yours.”_

Vanya beamed at the compliment, turning from a scary Viking Princess into a ray of sunshine. The two girls laughed at the sudden change and led Vanya to the Great Hall to join the others. Together Aslaug, Vanya, and the Ragnarssons arrived at the shore where Silas would reach within an hour.

“It will all be alright, Lillemor (Little mother). And before you know it, he will return to his kingdom, and you will forget all about him.” Hvitserk whispered into her ear, making Vanya smile in thanks. They agreed not to kill Silas and endure his presence till he left. As long as Silas behaved, he wouldn’t be beheaded or harmed.

The ships drew nearer with the help of the good wind. Vanya thought about her monster of a brother. **_"You are a waste of space! Unthankful, filthy, and stupid. Aren’t you?“ "You will do as I say. Or I will let the heathen army have their way with you in the middle of the streets.” "The cattle in the barn has more intelligence than you. Maybe I should let you live with them to learn a thing or two.“ "I should have smothered you in your crib like I wanted to!"_** He was cruel and cared about nobody but himself and the throne. 

By the time Vanya snapped out of her thoughts, the ships were docked, and Silas looked at them with a smirk on his face. The King got off the boat, flanked with his knights.

He was clad in their father’s blue cloak with his crown on his head, wearing both proudly and smugly. As if to show everyone, he was better than them. "Welcome to Kattegat, King Silas. I hope the journey as well,” Aslaug greeted the blond Saxon, who looked her over and smirked at her.

“Could have been better, but we prevailed like we always do. You must be Queen Aslaug, the one who sees the future?” Aslaug nodded in agreement as Ivar clenched his teeth together in anger. The Christian spoke like a snob mocking his mother without any respect for her title. 

“Let me introduce you, King Silas. You already know, Bjorn.” The Queen said with a fake smile, her eyes sharper than any blade. Bjorn stared down at the smug King with hard eyes; Silas returned the stare with the same amount of disgust. “My sons Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar. And, of course, my daughter Vanya." 

The Saxon looked at the sons of Ragnar and smirked when he had to look down to look at Ivar. The youngest Ragnarsson glared at him from his seat on a chair, with Ubbe on his left and Vanya on his right. Silas looked at his sister and smirked at her brace facade. "Lovely sister, you have grown. I was worried my letter never reached you when you didn’t respond." 

"She hasn’t been feeling that well; carrying a child is not an easy task,” Aslaug said, walking towards her son and his wife, laying a hand on their shoulders. “We can assure you; we have been taking good care of Vanya; she is a part of our family after all." 

"Of course.” Silas nodded, his smirk still present as he embraced Vanya. “How far along are you?”

The ginger laid a hand on her stomach and smiled at him. “Eight months. Is Mother not here?” Silas shook his head and mentioned back at the ship.

“She has found a new lover with a huge treasury. But let’s not trouble ourselves with talk of whores.” Silas snapped back, spit flying out of his mouth; Vanya agreed against her will, thinking of her poor mother, who was left alone with this spiteful idiot. 

“How long do you wish to stay, Brother?” Vanya questioned, looking at the knights that he bought with him. They looked tense, watching the Vikings as they would attack at any moment. 

Silas scoffed and glared at Vanya; all his earlier fake smiles gone. “Why, do you wish to get rid of me, Sister?” He spat angrily as Vanya shook her head and mentioned for the knights.

“I am just worried for your knights. They aren’t dressed for the weather. The first snow will fall soon. I do not want them to freeze or grow ill.” The King shook his head and leaned closer to her ear. The Ragnarsson stiffened, especially Ivar, who reached for the axe, he hid on his back. 

“Don’t worry about my playthings. Worry about your pack of savages, dirty and pitiful just like you. Wasn’t I right, Vanya? He fits you perfectly." 

"Don’t call them savages; they are my people. Just like your knights used to be.”

Silas scoffed at that and glared into his sister’s eyes. “They are not your people; they never were and never will be. You are the womb to some mutilated heathen; you nor your child have any claim to my throne.”

“Then why are you here?” She hissed, her hatred for him evident even to the knights. Silas stared at her, shocked. How dare she speak back to him, question him, and oppose him? Who does she think she is?

“How about we move to the Great Hall? We prepared a feast to welcome you.” Aslaug cut in to deescalate the situation before it came to a fight. Silas scowled down at the ginger, who matched his heated look with one of her own. He scoffed and turned to Aslaug.

“Let’s go.” He smiled kindly at the Queen as she returned his fake smile. “I wish to see what standard you hold my visit.” His smile turned sour as he slammed his shoulder against Sigurd’s and walked with Aslaug to the Great Hall.

“What a joy he is.” Hvitserk spat as Ivar and Ubbe checked on Vanya, who was breathing heavily, trying to calm her adrenaline-filled body. 

Sigurd rolled his eyes at the comment and looked up at Bjorn, who frowned at the knights armed from head to toe. “A fool. That’s what he is.” He spat, walking towards the hall, making sure Aslaug was alright with the King. The Ragnarssons looked at each other and shrugged, following behind Vanya, Ivar, and Ubbe.

The feast was awkward, to say the least. The Vikings had fun like always, but the Saxons were tense, and Silas watched the Northmen like they were lesser people. Ivar clutched his cup in his hand like he might throw it at Silas; even Sigurd was silent. Margrethe filled Vanya’s cup and looked at the Princess worriedly. _“Are you alright, Princess? You don’t look so well?”_

Silas looked over at his sister, who was pale with sweat on her forehead. The foreign tongue the thrall used was strange to him. It seemed pathetic in his eyes; English was much more proper. If he were king here, he would forbid the heathens to speak any other tongue or worship other gods than the Christian one. _“I am alright. The child is just restless today, that’s all. Something sweet might calm it some, like usually. Could you please fetch me something like that?”_

 _“Of course.”_ Margrethe run off to the kitchens while Silas stared at Vanya in disbelief. First, she dared oppose him, and now she speaks the language of these savages. How low she has fallen, his foolish little sister.

He stabbed his piece of meat with his fork and cut off a mouthful. After he swallowed the food, he washed it down with a cup of wine bought in his honor. “Mother wanted me to ask if you thought about names. She suggested Ælfgar or Wassa." 

Vanya looked at Silas, confused. "Mother wants me to name my child after Ælfgar The Thirsty?” Silas shrugged his shoulders at the question while Hvitserk looked at Vanya for an explanation. “He went mad and poisoned his three sons so they wouldn’t oppose him. His wife threw him down the well and named his brother the rightful heir.”

The Ragnarssons grimaced, shrugged, and snorted at the weird ancestor of their sister in law. Ivar looked at Silas, trying to see through his innocent question. He doubted that Vanya’s mother said that all he wanted to know was the gender of the child. “We wait with the naming until the babe is born. The name means a lot in our culture. It decides the future of the child, what the gods might have in store for it.” Aslaug explained, sipping on her cup with her perfect eyebrows raised in a challenge to the bratty King of Slegia. Luckily Silas held his tongue and brooded in silence. What a rare sight it was. 

“And Wassa? What did she do?” Ubbe tried to change the subject. 

“Her husband beheaded her for being infertile,” Silas said with a smirk on his face, yet Vanya shook her head at his answer and leaned closer to Ubbe.

“She wasn’t infertile; she gave him a daughter. But he wanted an heir as he was already fifty and killed the young Queen. He accused her of cheating on him, said the child wasn’t his." 

Silas shrugged at the history lesson and pointed at Vanya. "Can’t say I blame him. She was pretty and not even twenty. He was old and rich; thinking that she betrayed him with another was plausible. The child looked nothing like him anyway.” He then turned his gaze to Ivar and sneered with his teeth showing. “I wish that your child looks like you. However, it would be a shame if it had your legs. A terrible fate for a babe." 

Ivar growled at that, ready to launch himself over the table and strangle the king with his own coat. Ubbe and Vanya held the youngest Ragnarsson, whispering into his ear to compose himself and be the smart man. Yet Ivar kept glaring at the proud Christian who drank his wine like a won a war. 

"Your ancestors are insane,” Sigurd commented, thinking of all the family members Vanya mentioned. 

“A little bit, but there was more good than bad. Mother’s ancestry is crazier.” Vanya recalled thinking of the stories the wet nurses told her as a child.

Silas rolled his blue eyes at that and downed his cup, slamming it against the table. “They believed that fire runs through their veins. That’s why so many of them have red hair—kissed by fire: stories, the whole lot of them. Godric The Dragon was just a fool who burned the crops of other kingdoms hoping they would name him king. It worked with a bunch of farmers who overthrew their king and gave Wrosan to Godric, doesn’t make him a hero or a dragon.”

Vanya hated to agree with Silas on that one. Godric was a desperate man who wanted more than a field to plow. He created a dynasty of redheads by marrying a common girl. And now Wrosan is poor, supported by Slegia through marriage and heirs. It was sad to see a kingdom fall to ruin because of fights between greedy siblings. What was more tragic was that it was their grandfather that did it, which forced Siflæd to marry Osmond. And Silas was exactly like their grandfather, greedy, foolish, and cunning. 

“Well, at least you are somehow normal, Lillemor ( Little mother).” Hvitserk teased his sister, ignoring the offending noises Silas made. 

“I will take that as a compliment. I think.” Vanya mussed, smiling at the flaxen-haired Ragnarsson. 

Sigurd smirked at that and mentioned to Ivar. “Well, you can’t be completely normal. Otherwise, you wouldn’t love our little brother. And us. It takes a little bit of crazy to like us. Skol!” Everybody drank from their cups as Silas brooded in his chair.

“What’s the matter, My King?” Asked a knight on Silas’s right.

The King looked at him, fuming, and stabbed his fork into his meat, imagining it to be Vanya’s face. “They love her, Stithulf. These savages adore her; she fits right in that unthankful whore.”

Stithulf leaned closer to his King and pried his hand off the knife. He held his the blond’s hand in his and squeezed it to get his attention. “That’s right, My King. She is a whore; that’s what you must let the heathens see. You make her husband think of her as an adulterer, and the child will be no threat to you anymore. A bastard has no claim, no matter the sex. She will be nothing, just like she had always been.” Silas hung onto every word that left the knight’s lips and agreed. “You do trust me, do you not?”

“Of course I do.” Silas spat back, offended, ripping his hand away before somebody might notice and accuse him of lying with men. Stithulf was his advisor and protector, not his lover. A friend who saw the threat Vanya’s child poses for his crown. If it weren’t for Stithulf, Silas would have never taken any action. “I just don’t see the reason why the babe is such a problem. The council said most of the children here don’t live long. And when I marry, my son will be King, no matter if Vanya’s was born sooner. The stupid bitch doesn’t even want the crown.”

“She might not. But what of them? These savages are dangerous. And the child is of heathen blood. Do you want a pegan to sit on your throne? To wear your crown and rule your people? If the cripple doesn’t believe us, then we murder the mother and child both. So there won’t be any more incidents like this. First, we deal with her; then, we deal with your uncle. You deserve to rule; you always did. You are the rightful King of Slegia and Wrosan. Silas the Great.”

The spiteful king nodded at that, watching his sister talking with the Queen, Ragnarsson, Helga, and Floki. “Silas the Great. You are right. I deserve everything.”

“And you shall get it, My King,” Stithulf smirked behind the King's back what an easy chess piece the idiot was, so easy to manipulate - The Perfect King indeed.


	19. Queen Vanya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stithulf and Vanya talk about Silas.

Ivar and Vanya laid in each other’s arms, gazing at the ceiling in thoughts. Neither said anything as they basked in the bliss of their earlier activities. The more Vanya’s stomach grew, the harder it was for them to sleep with each other, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t try. It took some thinking and changing positions, but it always worked.

Ivar ghosted his fingertips over Vanya’s left shoulder as she laid on his arm. His right arm laid on his stomach, where it held her petite hand. He was enjoying the calm while it lasted; who knew what catastrophe Silas would bring on. Up until now, he just seemed bitter and bratty, which worried Ivar. The Ragnarsson was paranoid with worry, not sure if Silas was planning something or not. Yet Vanya reassured him to be cautious; there was a Ragnarsson with her at all times just to be sure.

“Sometimes, I wish we could stay here forever, never grow hungry or thirsty, and never die. Just you and me and our child. Would you like that?” Vanya questioned, looking into Ivar’s eyes at the end. The Viking smiled down at his lovely wife and nodded.

“With no worries or responsibilities to annoy us. Just laying here and passing the time.” He kissed her forehead as Vanya smiled at him with a teasing gleam in her blue eyes.

She raised one eyebrow at his and leaned closer to his face. “And how would you pass the time, Min elskede (My beloved)?” The Princesses smirk made her the more appealing to Ivar. No matter if her hair was a mess or sick, Vanya always looked like Freyja to him.

“I can think of a way or two.” He said back, his eyes darkening as they locked their lips together.

Vanya then pulled away from him and got up from the bed with some difficulty as Ivar pouted at her. “Why must you torment me like this, Min skatt (My treasure)?” The Princess looked at the pouting prince on the bed and winked at him.

“It is fun to see you, pout, Ivar.”

“I do not pout.”

“Sure, Min elskede (My beloved), whatever you say.” Ivar rolled his eyes at her sarcastic tone and moved to get ready. His eyes slid to Vanya’s pale body that put on a yellow dress. The roundness of her stomach, her plumb chest, and smooth skin made him yearn to pull her back into the bed and keep her there like they discussed moments ago.

Vanya waddled over to her husband and kissed him on the head, smiling down at him as an apology, even though she wasn’t sorry. She grew to love teasing Ivar; he always humored her with his reactions.

The young couple entered the Great Hall, where the Ragnarssons and Aslaug were already seated, as Silas and his knights entered later on. The only one of the knights that the King allowed to sit at the table was Stithulf. The blond Christian followed Vanya’s brother like a shadow, always smiling charmingly while he whispered into the King’s ear. He made the ginger’s skin crawl.

“Good Morning, Brother.” Vanya smiled at Silas, her hands clenched in her lap to hide her hate for him. The more loved Silas felt, the better. Whoever strokes his ego the most lived the longest. Maybe that’s why Stithulf is so good at it. What worried Vanya about the knight was that he wasn’t such a trusted friend to her brother when she left. Back then, he held the knights at arm’s length and listened to the council. Now he seemed to be led by knights.

Silas returned her greeting halfheartedly and ate his food while the conversation by the table evolved. They ate their morning meal and talked in Norse about Floki’s progress in building the ships and who agreed to travel with him. Right after, Vanya walked outside with Ubbe to meet up with Brynja and visit the market. The eldest son of Aslaug walked behind them, joking with the pregnant Princess and cheerful servant.

 _“And did you dream any more dreams of the stranger, Vanya?”_ Brynja questioned, showing the ginger a pretty necklace with red jewels in the middle.

The Saxon Princess looked down at the accessories and nodded shyly. She didn’t tell io Ivar, but she kept dreaming of the cloaked man at least twice a week. The man always stood a distance away from her in a field by the sea and watched her. When he got too close to her, Vanya woke up. But she wasn’t afraid anymore; every time the stranger showed up in her dreams, she felt safer. Like he was protecting her instead of following her around like a creep.

Ubbe noted the answer to that question and looked down at the butterfly necklace the ginger kept eyeing. _“Did you think of anything you want for your name day, Lillemor (Little mother)?”_

The ginger gazed up at the tall Viking and blushed at being caught red-handed, ogling the jewelry in desire. “When I was younger, I had a necklace just like this one.” She whispered, caressing the metal with a soft look in her eyes. _“Father gave it to me on my seventh name day. Silas threw it into the flames on my fourteenth. He said I was contemplating treason because I missed Father and wouldn’t accept him as the rightful King. He threw it into the fire and gave me a cross instead, so I would remember that I would answer to God if I didn’t acknowledge him.”_

 _“He is a bastard, that what he is. Jealous and petty like a child. Thank the Gods you are now a Viking and not anywhere near him.”_ Brynja fussed, glaring at the hut Silas and his six knights slept in.

Ubbe chuckled at that and patted Vanya’s head like a child’s or a dog's. _“But he is here, not that it changes anything. He is what you said and much worse. But Silas is not one of your problems anymore.”_ The two redheads peered at the Ragnarsson in doubt. “Married to a son of Ragnar Lothbrok, you are a Lothbrok now yourself, which makes you untouchable. Silas can only dream of hurting you, and he will be cut down either by the folk or us. You are very well-liked; that makes you well protected in turn.”

 _“Thank you, Ubbe. What would I do without you?”_ Vanya smiled at the Viking and hugged him tightly in thanks. She felt his chest shake as he laughed at her praise and patted her back.

 _“Deal with Ivar on your own, probably.”_ He joked as they separated; in return, Vanya hit his shoulder, pouting. Just because Ubbe was right doesn’t mean he can be an ass.

Out of Ivar’s brothers, she liked Ubbe the most, even if Vanya wasn’t supposed to have any favorites. He was kind, cheerful, and a great brother. They agreed on so many things and shared a common worry for Ivar. They both loved him in their own ways, which made them appreciate each other as well. Ubbe kept Ivar in check, worried for his health, and reminded him that he is no less of a Ragnarsson because of his legs. Vanya calmed the youngest brother and loved him unconditionally. In the end, Ubbe and Vanya were both good for the angry Viking.

 _“Princess!”_ The little voices cried out in glee before two children run to the ginger’s side. _“Good Morning, Princess. Is the baby kicking right now? Can we feel?”_ The asked excitedly as Vanya smiled at them.

“It is pretty calm today, but maybe the babe will respond.” She nodded as the two blond girls put their hands on her belly and waited for a kick. They both squealed in joy when the child softly hit their hands through the skin. _“Now, where did you two leave, Esther? The woman must be worried sick.”_

The two girls looked at her sheepishly and confessed that they did run off when they saw red hair in the crowd. Vanya, Brynja, and Ubbe chuckled at the two children and promised to bring them back to their caretaker. _“Do you know our names, Princess?”_

Vanya pouted in thought and looked at the two blond orphans that held her hands as she walked them towards the other side of the market. _“Well, you are Selby.”_ The Saxon remembered the little girl who gave her the flowers. Then she looked at the other girl and tilted her head to the side. _“And you must be Hildr.”_

The two cheered that the pretty princess remembered their names and told her everything she missed while she didn’t visit them. They even mentioned that they thought of names for her babe. They all agreed at the orphanage that if she and Ivar have a son, they should name him Baldur. _“Well, I don’t know. We will see when it’s born. But I wouldn’t namesake a child after a god. What if the gods don’t like it?”_

The five of them chatted about the possibility of a Baldur Ivarsson and the gods’ anger about names until they reached an angry Esther that questioned the other children. _“I believe these are yours,”_ Ubbe called out to the frantic woman. She turned on her heel to look at the Prince and exhaled loudly when she saw the two blonde orphans holding hands with the former Christian Princess.

 _“You will send me to an early grave, running off like that. Little monsters the whole lot of you!”_ She scolded the girls who apologized to her. Esther left the market with all the children in tow as Vanya held back chuckles as they all waved goodbye to her. She loved these children as if they were her own. So nice and happy, despite the harsh life they have been given. Vanya hoped that they wouldn’t change.

Ubbe and Vanya sat in the grass at the lake, talking to each other. Brynja left some time ago to help her father at the farm. The old man was in better health now and didn’t require constant care anymore. The fever left him two days after the sacrifice to Freyja in Vanya’s name happened. He thanked the gods for the second chance and nagged Brynja to get married and give him some grandchildren to worry about. Poor Brynja couldn’t tell him she was seeing the blacksmith's son in secret for a while now. The rugged Viking wasn’t good enough in her father’s eyes.

“I am surprised Aslaug isn’t pressing you to get married and give her grandchildren too. After all, Ivar is the youngest, and he will be a father before you.” She teased the undressing Viking, covering her eyes as he got into the lake to bath while the water was warm.

“Oh, she will complain soon enough. So try to keep the babes coming, Lillemor (Little mother). If she can cuddle your children, she will leave me alone.” He called back from the lake, smirking at her frown.

Vanya shook her head at his antics and continued weaving a flower crown out of daisies. “That’s what you think. The more grandchildren she gets from Ivar, the more she will from the rest of you. Now she doesn’t have to worry about Ivar’s future; she will question yours.”

Ubbe froze in his swimming and stared at the smirking ginger. “She can mother Bjorn’s children. I am content for now.”

“Bjorn’s children don’t count. They aren’t of her blood. She wants some from you, Hvitserk and Sigurd. Especially you since you are the oldest. She told me so before.” Ubbe splashed her with water as she shrieked as the liquid soaked her dress. “Stop! Please have mercy!”

The two laughed together till a branch snapped behind them. Ubbe swam towards the edge, ready to attack whoever came till the person emerged from the trees with his hands over his head. “Sorry for startling you. I mean no harm.” Stithulf explained, walking towards Vanya unarmed.

Ubbe relaxed in the water when Vanya dismissed him and smiled at the blond knight. “How can I help you, Stithulf?”

“You know my name, Princess. I am honored.” He said, sitting down next to her but keeping his distance so Ubbe wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

Vanya watched the knight, remembering the last time she saw him. The fourteen-year-old son of a lord sat around her father’s council table that wanted to wage war against the Northmen. “I remember you from the council. You wanted to fight the Vikings.”

Stithulf chuckled at the memory and twisted grass between his fingers. “That is true. But I was young and foolish; I promise I changed. As did you, My Princess. You are nothing like I remembered you.”

“We have to change to survive, don’t we? I am surprised that you are a knight and not a councilman like your father. Why is that?” She watched him like a hawk, trying to decipher why he is here and his deal with Silas.

“I obviously wasn’t meant for strategy; I would much rather fight for my kingdom then sit at the table talking about coin and wheat.” He joked, ripping the grass-blade in half and tossing the two halves away. “King Silas can talk with his old wrinkled lords; I prefer the dusty training grounds over them every day. And I do see more than they do anyway. After all, I am here, and they are rotting away in their homes.”

Vanya frowned at the disrespectful words and tightened the flowers in her crown in anger. “Wouldn’t you much rather be at home too? Instead of surrounded by strangers who don’t speak your language or believe in God?”

“I wouldn’t think of myself as surrounded. That makes me seem as if I was in danger. I am here on accounts of my King, making sure the Princess is safe and sound. I will go through worse things for him than a few pagans.” Stithulf said simply, watching the scenery and trying to avoid looking at the bathing Ragnarsson that was getting dressed.

“I suppose you are right.” Vanya agreed, putting the flower crown on her head in triumph.

“A crown fit you,” Stithulf noted, watching the smile on the ginger’s face fade. Ubbe sat down on her right, pulling her further away from the Christian. “The people here love you, more than the folk in Slegia does. You speak their language; you worship their gods, you care for them. You would make a good queen one day.”

Vanya frowned at him and shook her head. “I don’t wish to be a queen. And I never will be. Ivar’s the youngest son; he won’t be a king, and I won’t be Queen. I am happy with the way it is.”

The knight shook his head at her statement and shrugged. “Things chance, Princess. And being the Heathen Queen isn’t the only possibility. Slegia and Wrosan are an option as well.”

Vanya scoffed at that and glared at him; Stithulf froze at the cold stare. The Princess he remembered was timid and meek, nothing like the fierce thing before him. “Silas is King of Slegia. And my uncle rules Wrosan under him. Their heirs will rule after them; there is no place for me on that throne.”

“Noble words for someone who hated Silas. I am not blind nor stupid. Silas is not a good king; flattery and bribes can get anyone high in his court. He is surrounded by liars and sweet-talkers, too content to see the dangers they might pose for him. I am sure many will turn to your cause when you prove to have more potential than him. After all, you were King Osmond’s favorite.”

“What you are saying is treason. Silas wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if he found out.”

“It’s not treason if I want the best for him. Silas is blind but not hopeless. If somebody made him see the truth, he might become a better king. I try my best, but I can only say so much when the council contradicts me. No offense, Princess, but the King isn’t well-liked by the people like you. When he parades his army around and talks of war, people see starvation and death, not glory. As long as they are fed and alive, they don’t care what their ruler does. If they have a better option, they will dispose of the other one themselves. That’s treason. I want the people to see Silas as the only option, the best choice there is. But I can’t do that if he does what he pleases.”

Vanya mulled the knight’s words over. He was right. Silas was too rash and self-centered to care for the people. He didn’t care for them, and they didn’t care for him. If anyone staked a claim at the throne, they would betray him without a doubt. Silas’s fate would be sealed, and the House of the Raising Sun would no longer rule Slegia. All the hard work, the Kings before him, made would go to waste. No matter how shady Stithulf might seem at first glance, he was more than a killing machine. He was cunning and cared for Silas in his own way.

“Why are you telling all this. I am not an option, Stithulf.” Vanya reminded him, to which he nodded.

“And that is why I am here. To remind Silas of that, to show him what a ruler should look like. After all, the best way to make him see the truth is by comparing him to the Northmen. Nothing makes him rethink his worth than a bunch of heathens being better at ruling than him. This way, he will know what he should look like and raise above his childish ways.”

Vanya nodded at the rant yet couldn’t imagine Silas changing at all. He was too set in his old ways that even a clever plan like that won’t work on him.


	20. Brother and sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silas and Vanya talk on her name day. The pregnancy is coming to an end soon.

If there was one thing Vanya hated, then it’s definitely seeing Silas walking around looking down at everyone. Or maybe it’s just Silas himself; after all, he isn’t exactly the most likable person. Stithulf is probably the only one who truly cares for Vanya’s cruel brother and not for his title. The blond knight seemed to her like a good influence on her brother. He cared about the people and Silas’s survival, which no one else bothered to do up until now. She just hopes that his concern is sincere and not a front he put on to win her trust.

“I was never happier that I didn’t have a sister. Just imagining him as our brother in law makes me sick.” Sigurd commented, sitting next to her on his bench, tuning his oud as she stitched a pattern on Ubbe’s new shirt.

Vanya shrugged at his choice of words and looked down at her stitching. She was so absorbed into her thoughts and watching Silas that she butchered a part of her work. The ginger cursed under her breath and tried fixing it. Her husband’s older brother snickered at her adorable rage but shut up when she glared at him.

“You do have a sister now. And she doesn’t like you talking about her brother that way.” She snapped angrily as Sigurd raised an eyebrow at her tone.

“Please don’t tell me you like him. I get that he is your family, but Silas doesn’t seem like a good brother. When was he ever nice to you?” Sigurd asked, thinking back to his own brother. He and Ivar were brothers, but if someone were to treat him the way Silas treats Vanya, he would kill them. Only Sigurd gets to insult Ivar and get away with it. After all, they are brothers; it would get boring if everybody were nice to each other.

Vanya saw Stithulf leave her brother’s side and walk over to the other knights, both Silas and the knight seemed annoyed and sour. “When were you ever nice to Ivar?”

“When he was a babe. Things were easier when he couldn’t talk.”

“You mean when neither of you talked.” Vanya pointed out, walking over to her brother’s side, gathering all her courage to talk to him. “Are you alright?”

Silas glared down at his redheaded sibling and walked away from her. He stomped his way past two of his knights, who looked at him, terrified. “Get out of my way, you lowlife filth!” He spat at them as they made a path for him.

“I am sorry, I am sure you bathe regularly. Have a nice day!” Vanya apologized in her brother’s stead as she heard Sigurd run after her, cursing her sudden getaway.

“Stop following me!” Silas spat at her, turning on his heel. His nostrils flared in rage; the king looked like a bull ready to charge. “What do you want, Vanya?”

“I want to talk. Like civilized people would.”

“Do you take me for uncivilized, you worthless bitch?”

She definitely didn’t miss these types of conversations with him. Why does she even try? “I don’t want to fight. I want to talk to you privately, without it seeming like you will kill me.”

Silas huffed at her comment and mentioned the shore. She sat down on the pier to rest her legs while he stood over her, glaring at the water instead of her. “Talk, or I will leave.”

“What did you argue with Stithulf about?” She tried not to sound demanding and timid to soothe his anger a little bit. It would be easier if he were less murderous.

Silas sighed and gave her a letter from his pocket. It held the royal seal of Slegia, which could only mean that their mother sent it. Vanya opened it and read over the writing in astonishment. “Dear King Silas, I wish to inform you that I got married again while you were away. Me and Lord Ceolmund will continue living in the castle. Have a safe journey, and greet Vanya for me. Greetings, Queen Mother Siflæd.” It was short and to the point, and an obvious dismissal of Silas’s authority as she married without his consent or knowledge. 

“She did it to spite me. I forbid her to bring any more lovers to the castle, so she married the one that would anger me the most.” He seethed, tearing the letter out of her hands and ripping it into pieces that he threw into the sea. “I want to raise my armies and cut off his head!”

“Maybe she did it out of love. Or she is with child. Whatever the reason, he is our new father now. Murdering him isn’t a wise choice.” Vanya reasoned, trying to remember if she ever met this Lord Ceolmund.

Silas shook his head and slammed his hand against the post he leaned on. Vanya jumped at the sudden outburst. “Oh, he is as much of father to us as Siflæd was a mother. Ceolmund is rich and young, a perfect victim to her charms. The moment he returns to his senses, she will drop him, pregnant or not.”

“If you know that, then why fight with Stithulf? Why plan a murder if the outcome is obvious?” Vanya pressed, trying to decipher her brother’s thinking process.

The King spat on the ground in disgust and looked at her stomach. “Because this poses a problem for my marriage.”

“Your marriage? You will take a wife?” Vanya questioned, failing to imagine Silas as a husband. He always seemed like the type that wouldn’t marry even if his life depended on it.

He leaned into her face and smirked. “I am supposed to marry Lady Eoforhild. She will give me an heir and connect Slegia with Ecbert. Considering that she is his brother’s granddaughter, he will support us against threats to keep her safe. But Mother destroyed the plan the moment she married that halfwit.”

“How does that destroy your plan? You can still marry her.”

“Ceolmund is Eoforhild’s father, you dumb cow. The deal was to marry her, as it is the honorable thing to do after I took her maidenhead, leaving her no longer a virgin and unfit to marry anyone. She seduced me at a dance on my name day, that bought dishonor on their family name, so Ecbert offered me her hand in exchange for his armies. They keep their reputation and get some form of power over Slegia, while I get allies and heirs. And that option is now out of the question when Mother went behind my back and married my betrothed’s father!”

“And now the church won’t allow you to marry her anymore.” The ginger sighed in defeat, seeing the reason behind his anger. Their mother destroyed a chance of protection and the poor girl’s life.

Silas rolled his eyes at that and looked back at Sigurd, who stood behind them, glaring at Silas as if he will beat him with his oud soon. “Mother did it to gain back some sense of control. She has been throwing tantrums since you left; she is humiliating herself and the whole kingdom. She always hated being in the background; that’s why she acts out like a child. Just like when Father was alive. That’s the truth of it all.”

Vanya knew what he was talking about; when Osmond was still alive, Siflæd paraded her lovers around to spite him and his lovers. Their relationship was anything but love; they hated each other and fought daily behind closed doors. After his funeral, the vicious cycle was over, and she could do as she pleased. That is till Silas got fed up with her behavior and forbid her to take any more lovers. And now she married his future father in law.

“The truth is always either terrible or boring. Why can’t there be a middle ground? Like she married him out of love and not spite.”

“She doesn’t know love, not to me or anyone else. She is a dark pit of hate and selfishness. Siflæd never held her tongue about me being a monster, but we both know she is no better. The only difference is that I have no problem showing it.” He sneered in his rage, stomping off to either brood or plan murder. Whatever it was, Vanya understood his feelings. A perfect opportunity was thrown out of the window because Siflæd got something to prove.

“Well, that was eventful,” Sigurd commented, helping Vanya up. The ginger flinched in pain, causing Ragnarsson to panic. “Is it the babe? Is it coming? Please say no, you can’t give birth here!”

Vanya rolled her eyes at his hysterics and wrapped her arm around his. “Just a kick. The child is stronger than one would think.” Sigurd sighed and helped her walk back to the Great hall to collect her stitching.

“A gift, Princess. A pretty rose for a pretty girl.” A woman stopped them, giving the Saxon a flower before walking away.

“Well, that was strange,” Vanya muttered, cradling the gift in her hand, smelling the sweet aroma.

Sigurd snorted and pointed at the rose. “Maybe it’s an offering. Hvitserk heard some people say you are Freyja or Frigg in disguise.”

The pregnant girl gawked at him in shock. How could the people even think of her as a goddess? What about her seemed divine and godlike? “I am not a goddess, Sigurd! I am human, just like the rest of you. I’m not special; who am I to think I am special?.”

“Pretty, smart, kind, selfless, lots of patience considering your husband. You are right, nothing special at all. I guess we are all just naive.” The sarcasm was strong with that one, and it made her smile. It was nice to be seen, but she would prefer a little less worship. She wasn’t a god or anything near Freyja and Frigg. Vanya is and always was a plain mortal born into money. There are thousands of them all over Midgard. “And you should get used to getting gifts. It is your name day today. You are seventeen now, Little bird.”

Vanya chuckled and smiled at the passing people. A year ago, she wasn’t pregnant, married, or living in Kattegat. Things change so fast it’s almost scary. Everything she went through in the last year feels like it happened a decade ago. “Oh, I will still complain about getting gifts; I will just limit for Ivar’s ear before we go to bed.

"Well, I hope you won’t complain about my gift. I think you will like it.”

“No promises, Brother.” She teased as he snorted, shaking his head.


	21. The stupid, the proud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Name day gifts and the baby comes.

The celebration of Vanya’s name day took place when the sun went down. Her back and feet hurt, and the babe was restless. She was exhausted and wanted to rest, but she sat down and pretended to be happy for the sake of the people.

Many people from the village came to give her gifts, flowers, jewelry, children gave her toys, and healers gave her potions to recover quicker from birthing her child. Ale and music flowed through the busy hall as she sat next to Ivar, a hand on her stomach, hoping the child would calm down soon.

Her husband kept whispering pretty words to her and kissing her knuckles, but Vanya still felt nervous. “Alright, now it’s time to give you our gifts, Sister,” Hvitserk exclaimed, raising his cup of mead high into the air as everybody cheered with him.

Aslaug smiled from her position on Ivar’s left as thralls carried in a box to Vanya’s feet. They opened the heavy wooden chest to reveal a dagger with a golden handle and engraving on the steel. “It has protection runes on it. You keep it near you during birth, and both you and the child will survive. I had it with me during every delivery, just like my ancestors before me. Every mother passes it onto her daughter. And now it’s yours, Vanya.”

The ginger looked at Aslaug with tears in her eyes and hugged the kind woman. The Queen acknowledged her as her daughter in front of the whole Kattegat; she was a Lothbrok now, not only through marriage. The next to give her a gift was Ubbe. He put a small item into her hands wrapped in fabric. When Vanya revealed the present, she couldn’t help but gasp.

The oldest son of Aslaug smiled down at her cheekily and nodded towards the butterfly pin in her hands. “You said you had a necklace like that once. So I thought it would be nice to give you something to remind you of it, Lillemor (Little mother).”

“Thank you, Ubbe. I love it.” She grinned at him as he squeezed her tightly and kissed her forehead. The tall Ragnarsson also mussed Ivar’s hair as the crippled boy glared at him for the affection his wife gave him.

“Jewelry, Ubbe? Really? How unoriginal. You make it too easy. I got you a better gift, Vanya!” Hvitserk boasted, passing her another wrapped item. This one was heavier and square. “I had one of the Saxon thralls write it down for you. It’s stories about the gods and the greatest warriors to ever live. Father is in there, and mothers’ parents as well. You said you wanted to learn everything. Floki also wrote some runes in there for you to learn.”

Vanya thanked the giddy Viking and trailed her fingers over the hand cover of the book Hvitserk had made for her. It looked just like the ones the monks carried around the church. She had a feeling the one who wrote the stories was a monk too, and the book might have been either bought blank or had the pages remade. Whatever it was, she felt a little bit sorry for the author of the book. The slave learned how to write to eternalize God’s word, and now he writes stories of foreign gods and warriors.

“And this is my gift. Much better than Hvitserks, I am sure.” Sigurd jumped in with his oud in hand. It turns out the reason why the Ragnarsson tuned his instrument next to Vanya was to get it ready for a song he wrote for her. The music was beautiful; it started on a sad note that grew fiercer with every note, ending in a happy symphony. Everyone clapped the pretty song and it’s creator.

Floki and Helga gave Vanya their gifts as well, white Bjorn and Torvi gifted her with new furs. The last one to provide her with a gift was Ivar. His present was wrapped in fabric and heavy. “I made it myself. It’s Jörmungandr. I already gave you Fenrir, so it would only be fair if you had his sibling as well.”

The metal necklace was perfect despite the origin of the creature it held. Ivar had Thor’s hammer; it would only be fair if she had something powerful too. And a snake that binds all the seas is truly brilliant. All the storms that Thor creates make the snake rage in the waters. “Thank you, Ivar. It’s perfect.”

The two shared a kiss while the babe inside her raged on. Maybe it would be like Jörmungandr, circling around her belly, waiting for its time to escape. She just hoped it wouldn’t be as disastrous as what will follow the serpent’s escape. The Princess was in no mood for Ragnarok.

“I want to give you a gift as well, sister,” Silas announced proudly, walking towards the sitting redhead. The item he gave her was heavy and bought in by two knights. Whatever was inside the ornamented chest was a bad omen. Vanya could feel it in her aching bones; the gift wasn’t made in good faith. “A reminder as well, just like another one of your gifts.”

Ivar ordered Margrethe to open the chest; inside was a golden cross. It was large and ornamented with jewels. Everyone stared at the heavy rood that their father used to have in his study. It always stood on his desk before him when he thought of war, to remind him that God is on his side and should like it. But Silas didn’t give it to her to remember Osmond; he gave it as a warning.

“I chose it, and Mother agreed it to be a good gift. You can melt it down and have jewelry made out of it or give it to the orphans as treasure. Whatever you chose, dear little sister. The choice is yours.”

Vanya kept staring at the Christian symbol, not knowing what to think or say. Her eyes slowly lifted to look at Silas as Ivar fumed next to her. The Ragnarssons looked at the cross with disgust while Aslaug watched Silas to find out his motive. “Why, Father’s cross?”

“It’s not like he needs it anymore. And we have enough back at home; one missing won’t do any damage, I hope. And I wanted to finish what we started when we were children. When Father discussed the Viking problem with the council, you wanted peace. And isn’t it funny that you were the thing that bought it? Like you were destined to do it. Do you remember what you said?” He smirked at her mocking her comment during a council when she was eight. He didn’t forget and maybe only offered her to Bjorn as revenge.

“We could give them something and ask them to leave us alone,” Vanya repeated the words she said nearly nine years ago.

Silas chuckled and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, ignoring the agitated heathens around him. “I offered you, and they agreed. And now you are a pagan yourself with a child on the way, funny how everything comes full circle. Father was right, I could have given them all our money, treasures, and crosses, yet they wouldn’t be satisfied. Giving them you were a different story. They like you, adore you even; some think of you as one of their gods. This shall remind you you are nothing but one of God’s sheep, no matter how misguided you are in your beliefs now.”

Vanya swallowed the dry taste in her mouth as her stomach knotted with dread. Sweat gathered on her brow as pain coursed within her body. Something was wrong, very, very wrong.

“Blessed are the meek Vanya. Remember that; you may think that you have it all now, but you are the same stupid little girl you always were. Just fatter and stupider. Happy seventeenth name day.”

“Vanya, are you alright?” Helga called out, seeing the girls state. The Princess opened her mouth to answer, but all that came out was a scream as the pain grew unbearable. Aslaug and Helga run to her side to check on her as her tights became slick. “The child is coming.”

Aslaug’s shocking words echoed around the tense hall as everybody sprang into action. Ubbe picked the ginger up and carried her to her and Ivar’s hut with Helga, Aslaug, Ivar, and healers in tow. Silas watched them go with anger in his eyes. He wanted to see her reaction to his words, not the concern everyone showed at her pained whimpers.

Ubbe laid his panting sister in law on the bed as healers hoarded the room, throwing him out before he could say anything. The only man in the chambers was the child’s father that crawled next to her, holding her clammy hand as Aslaug whipped her brow with a wet towel. The healers stripped Vanya off her black dress and put her into a baggy white one instead. They helped her up and made her stand as they removed the bedding until the only remaining was the wooden frame.

Aslaug stood next to Vanya as the girl leaned against the dresser grinding her teeth together, breathing through the pain. She regretted ever wanting children; she should have stayed with dolls and not slept with Ivar. But it was too late for wishful thinking, the babe was coming, and she wanted to hit something. Maybe Ivar, he was the one who put the child in her after all. How come he did the fun part, and she is huffing and puffing while a little human is making its way out of her?

She unclenched her palms on the top of the dresser, her fingers hitting a solid item. Vanya lifted her heavy head and gazed at the wooden figure of Fenrir, that Ivar gifted her nine months ago. The ginger wrapped her right hand around the carved wolf and tightened her grip around it, swallowing her pained screams.

Images flashed before her closed eyes as she bends lower her forehead resting against the cool wood of the cabinet. She saw frozen water before her as her lungs screamed for air. Her eyes snapped out in fright till the next contraction hit, and another vision overtook her.

This time she saw arrows flying in the sky, aiming for something in the distance. With a deep exhale, Vanya forced her eyes open again, her hallucinations not making any sense to her.

Ivar watched from the bedside, Vanya’s hunched trembling body covered in a thin layer of sweat as his mother and Helga stood on each side of her. "Vanya? Do you hear me? Love, we need to move again. Vanya?“ His wife was deaf to his mother’s calls, staring blankly at the floor with wide eyes.

"What is wrong with her?” Ivar called out, biting his nails and running his hand through his hair, reminding himself not to pull on it, or he might rip it out in worry.

The answer came from a healer who finished the bed so she could lay down on it to rest her feet. “The pain must be making her delusional. It would be better to move her before her give out under her.”

Vanya saw splatters of blood fly her way as the axe swung up again, a spray of blood flying behind it. “Don’t drown, Vanya.” She regained her senses with a gasp, the eerie words the cloaked stranger spoke in her dream repeating in her head.

“What’s wrong, Vanya. Talk to me.” Aslaug’s soft hand on her cheek made her look up to see the worried look in the Queen’s eyes. She needed to tell her, Aslaug would know what to do.

“I am going to die. Please, you can’t let me die. I have to protect my child!” She explained in a rush, her eyes wide and filled with desperation.

Yet the Queen of Kattegat only shook her head and stroked her cheek. “You aren’t dying. You will be alright. You are in good hands, Vanya, the Gods are with you. Freyja, Frigg, and Freyr are all with you. You and the child will not die.” Vanya hung onto every word her mother in law whispered to her, praying to each god that she was right.

They led her back to the bed, Fenrir still in her hand. A stabbing pain ripped through her, a scream leaving her lips as three women and Ivar crowded around her, trying to help. Ivar wrapped his hand around hers only to feel the carved toy he made her. Confused, he turned her fist towards him, his eyes wide at what he saw. Some of the sharper edges must have dug into her soft skin and broke it, as blood flowed from the wounds and down her wrist. Everyone was too focused on her bleeding crotch than her hand.

“Let go, Min elskede (My beloved). You are hurting yourself.” He carefully pried the object from her hand and put his palm in its place. “Grip it as tightly as you need.”

Vanya screamed again, her head thrown back in agony as Aslaug wiped her forehead again, Helga and the healer held her legs and waited for the head to show. The redhead looked at the calm Queen and begged her to listen to her and save her child. “I didn’t see your or its death. You will be alright.”

“But I saw it. Please, you have to promise me.”

“Vanya, nothing is wrong.”

“Please, promise me, Mother. Don’t let my child die.” Aslaug saw the desperation and pain in her eyes, so she nodded and promised to keep them both safe no matter what.

The healer lifted her head from where she looked between Vanya’s legs. “Push, just a few, and the head will be out.”

Vanya bore down, praying for the pain to be over and the child alive. Ivar squeezed her hand back, biting on his nails, looking as in pain as her. With every sob, scream, and whimper she let out, he felt worse and worse. "Ivar.“ Her eyes shone with tears as more sweat coated her pale skin.

"What is it, Min elskede (My beloved). Tell me.” He pleaded back as she laid there is pain, sweat, and blood. For eight hours, she suffered to bear his child, who knows how long she felt the ache while they celebrated. Ivar prayed to the gods to let her torment end, and their child to cry out as it took its first breath.

Vanya stared into his glassy eyes, weakling glaring at him. “Fuck…You.” She whispered as he laughed at her words—the total opposite of what she hoped to achieve.

“Fair enough. It’s my fault, after all. I hope you will forgive me.” Ivar whispered back, kissing her white knuckles and keeping her weak hand near his lips.

Outside the hut, people prayed as the princesses screams echoed over Kattegat. The Ragnarsson stood together, muttering between themselves as the torches flickered around them. “Does every child take that long? Or is it as difficult as Ivar?” Sigurd asked, wincing at the next scream tore through the filled streets.

“Some take longer.” Torvi answered, holding onto Bjorn’s arm, their children huddled around them with their daughter in Bjorn’s embrace.

Ubbe grimaced at another scream, a nervous chuckle following after it. “Gods.” The others nodded in agreement. 

“One more push, Vanya.” Urged Helga as the Princess grew weaker. She fixed her grip on Ivar’s hand and, with one last scream pushed her child out. The next cry that followed caused everyone to sigh in relief.

Helga and Aslaug wiped the babe down as the healer helped Vanya deliver the afterbirth. When they bought the child to her, it was wrapped in a blanket. “It’s a boy,” Aslaug announced, laying the Ivarsson on her chest.

He had a few dark hairs on his head as he frowned at the change of places. Ivar looked at his mother in fear. “Is he?”

“He is healthy, Ivar. He is perfect.” She reassured him, showing him the little kicking feet as proof. The child wasn’t cripple like his father, and Ivar couldn’t be happier that he was spared the same fate as him.

“He is perfect.” Vanya agreed lovingly gazing at the face of her newborn son. He looked angry to be there, which reminded her of Ivar in a good way. A son. They had a son now. Finally, the worst part was over.

She nursed the child for the first time in front of everyone present, as the tradition wanted. When the boy was fed, Helga withdrew from the couple, the child lying on his mother’s chest, soundly asleep. Aslaug made Ivar leave the tired redhead alone, asking him to inform everyone outside of his son’s birth.

Vanya and the child were now the only ones inside the chambers lying on the hard bed as cheers sounded outside the hut. She smiled tiredly, stroking his cheek while the healer wiped her down with a cloth to get rid of the blood. The Saxon needed to sleep, and a staring Ivar asking her if she is alright, wouldn’t have helped her. But she wanted him to bask in their son’s glory just like she is right now.

“You are glorious, just like Ivar said you would be. You, my son, come from two powerful bloodlines. You are a Lothbrok, grandson of the most powerful man on earth, and a descendant of the House of the Raising Sun. You have dragon’s blood in you, red hair or not.” She whispered to him affectionately as he slept, content for now. She closed her eyes too as the healer sat by her bed, ready if something went wrong with either of them.

The next time Vanya woke up, it was three hours later, just before dawn. The sounds of the celebration of her son’s birth could be heard outside. But that’s not what woke her up; instead, it was footsteps and a gurgling sound followed by a thud. Vanya sat up in her bed to meet the silhouettes of an armed man. The healer laid on the ground by the door with her throat slit.

Vanya sprang from the bed and snatched her in furs wrapped child and backed away from the man. Despite being dressed like a farmer, she recognized his faces instantly. The quality steel also gave him away - one of Silas’s knights.

With adrenaline running through her veins, Vanya made a dash for the open door narrowly missing the knight’s outstretched hand. She jumped over the woman’s dead body and ran towards the Great hall.

Another knight cut off her route aiming his sword at her child. She desperately screamed for help, but the music and laughter drowned her sounds from the Great hall. She was too far away to be seen by somebody, especially in the dark.

Changing her direction, she runs towards the only open spot - the sea. Whatever power stood by her, she managed to outrun the three knights following her and reach the shore with the fisherman boats tied there. She jumped into one of the furthest boats and untied it. Vanya pushed the wooden vessel away and rowed with all her might.

Her son laid on a heap of nets under her, her body shielding him in case a sword got too close. An arrow hit the side of the boat, startling the girl from her concentration. One of the knights was shooting arrows at the ship as it was too far away for them to reach. The others soon drew their bows as well.

Vanya lifted a shield from the side of the ship and covered herself and her child under it. Arrows rained around them as her child fussed in his furs, confused about what was going on. Vanya watched her son with tears in her eyes, fearing for his life more than hers. But she needed to survive as well. With her dead, he would starve out at sea.

An arrow embedded itself into the shield, nearly stabbing her in the face. Vanya stared at the sharp metal panting in fear, her heart ready to jump off her chest at any second. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her arms grew weak from the onslaught of arrows. She couldn’t hold out any longer. She lowered her shield slightly to look at the archers. The flying bolts were missing the boat, some too far away to hit. But one of the knights run into the water as far as he could and notched another arrow. The other followed his example.

There was no other way to save their child; her son needed to live. So with her last bit of courage, she lowered the shield and suspended it above her child, making sure it wouldn’t get hit. The archer’s arrow pierced her shoulder, sending her falling backward over the edge of the boat from the impact. Vanya reached to grab something, but her body fell over the edge, hitting the chilling waters below, rocking the boat with the whimpering babe inside.

The water swallowed her up, her wet dress dragging her down. Water clouded her vision as her lungs begged for air. She reached for the boat over her head, trying not to lose sight of it.

The arrow ceased firing; the knights satisfied when the ginger didn’t come back up. They lowered their bows as the knight who shot her climbed from the water. “Get changed and return to the hall. Don’t look suspicious.” He ordered them and looked back at the floating boat with a lonely newborn in it. “Long live Silas the Great.” Stithulf mocked, walking away from the scene satisfied while the other knights cleaned the hut from the blood and got rid of the body.


	22. For every mother, every child, every brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody finds out what happened. Ivar loses his mind and plans to murder everybody in Kattegat till Vanya and his son show up.

Ivar sat on his father’s throne, glaring at the ground, lost in thoughts. Ever since the night his son was born, he hadn’t slept. He looked dead outside as he felt inside. His eyes were hollow, surrounded by dark circles, his hair was matted to his head from sweat and sticking out in some places from always running his fingers through it. His eyes are extremely blue, and his legs hurt like Hel.

But he couldn’t sleep, wash or do anything else but curse his stupidity. He should have stayed in the hut, like he wanted to, the Ragnarsson shouldn’t have listened to the healer and stayed by his wife’s and son’s side. But he was stupid and went to the Hall to celebrate with his brothers and the people.

Ivar returned to their hut in the morning only to find it empty. His wife and son went, together with the healer. He threw a tantrum, screamed, cursed both himself and the gods. That’s how Ubbe found him, trashing his home with the carved figure of Fenrir in his hand covered by the specks of blood that Vanya left behind during labor.

His brothers had to drag him out of the hut, scoring a few hits to their faces in the process. Hvitserk’s left eye is not swollen shut, and Sigurd flinches every time he moves his torso too fast. Yet it did nothing to Ivar’s state of mind. Aslaug and Ubbe stayed by his side, trying to get him to eat, drink, and sleep. But the youngest Ragnarsson was deaf to their words.

All he could hear was the last words Vanya told him. “Fuck you.” It was said in the mids of their child’s painful birth. She was in pain, and he took it with humor, and now it would be the last words that left her lips. If he had known that her tired, happy smile would be the last time he would see her, he would have stayed. He should have laid by her side, holding their perfect son, and watched her sleep.

Now all he had left of her were clothes, the fading smell, and the necklace he gave her. She hadn’t even worn it, and now it was one of the last things to remember her by. After Aslaug and Ubbe force-fed him, he busied himself, cleaning the wooden Fenrir from her blood. It looked new, but he still saw the bloodstains on it.

Bjorn and the rest of his brothers created a search party, trying to find them or their bodies. Ubbe only stayed behind in case he got violent again, but he felt numb, hollow. Floki wanted to reassure him that Vanya maybe just needed fresh air and got lost, but they both knew it was wishful thinking. Vanya was probably dead and their newborn with her.

Ivar hated himself so much; he wanted to rip his hair out and murder everyone in the kingdom. Starting with the healer who sent him away, when they found her, of course, then he would burn the man who asked him to stay at the feast longer to celebrate with them. The slaughter will then follow with anyone who could have seen or heard her, no matter if they did. And anyone who would stop him would follow. Expect his brothers and mother; they would search harder to sate his anger.

“Ivar.” The blue eyes Viking looked up to see Bjorn walking to him with a grim look on his face. “Two farmers found the healer in the stalls.”

“Well, then bring her here!” He spat back, but Aslaug watched Bjorn with a frown. He didn’t look happy with the information he gave them.

Bjor sighed and shook his head. “She is dead, Ivar. Someone slit her throat and hid her in the straw.”

“Brynja and Margrethe found bloodstains on the ground when they cleaned the hut as well,” Sigurd announced, walking into the Hall. “They were by the door; someone tried to clean them.”

Aslaug watched the sons of Ragnar crowded in the room, the silence in the room growing thicker. It was clear now; someone killed the healer and his her body. Which meant they wanted to kill Vanya and the child as well.

“Were all of the knights here during the feast?” The Queen asked, looking them over, but Hvitserk nodded.

He mentioned for the thralls by the door, that covered before Ivar in fear. He hit one of them when they poured his cup, so now they kept clear of him. “The thralls counted them—six men dressed in armor during the whole night. Silas was here as well; he didn’t leave his seat at all.”

Ivar scoffed at the information and dug his nails into the armrest. Aslaug put her hand on top of his, but he wrenched it away, ignoring her hurt expression. He had more pressing matters to attend to than heading his mother’s feelings; somebody tried to kill his family. And they may have succeeded, and he had no one to blame.

Silas changed his clothes into some older ones, more fit for searching for his sister. Stithulf sat by the table, watching another knight clean his sword from the healer’s blood. The bitch put up a fight and tried to kill the knight. But he got the upper hand and cut her neck open instead, which wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to knock her out and pin the murder of the Princess and little Prince on her. A scrape goat they could all hide behind.

“Search wherever they tell you to look, steer clear of the water. It would be suspicious if you discovered the floating boat. The longer it takes them to find my nephew, the better. He will either freeze or starve.” Silas ordered, tying the neckline of his tunic. Stithulf huffed and downed his cup of wine.

“We should leave. We would survive and would be safer in Slegia. Could blame the heathens for the murders and declare war on them with Eckbert’s help.” He argued before glaring at the cleaning knight on his right. “If you just did what you were told! And cover that bruise on your neck, you idiot! You fucked up, enough, Pæga !”

The knight frowned at that and straightened his back in defense, not liking the tone the younger knight took used against him. “The pagan tried to claw my eye out and woke the Princess! What was I supposed to do when she wanted to strangle me, boy? Thank her and then rip the baby's head off and kill its mother? I am a knight, not a monster.”

“You are a useless tool; that’s what you are. I gave you the most important job, Pæga. And you messed it up. I should have beheaded you with the rest of Father’s old guards. But I kept you alive, and this is how you repay my mercy. Count yourself lucky if you survive the journey back home. Pretend to mourn and search for the corpses of my sister and her child!” Silas spat at them and marched towards the door. When he left the hut with his knights in tow, a shiver shook his body. The air was cold, and clouds covered the sky.

The pagans believed that their gods mourned the Princess’s disappearance; they prayed to their false deities for her survival. Fools the lot of them, not even God can save her now, she drowned in the cold water of their homeland and left her child to starve on the boat. Or maybe crows will peck out its eyes and feast on his insides. Whatever end his nephew would meet, Silas needed to look sad. He pretended that he lost sleep over her disappearance instead of having the best rest of his life. The last time he slept this good, his father died.

“Come to the Great Hall! The Queen and the Ragnarssons have something to say.” Called out a thrall as the people crowded outside the Great Hall and waited for the news. The ones who were searching the hills and forests would be informed later.

Silas walked by Stithulf’s side with a fake grim look on his face. Inside they both celebrated their victory. Stithulf did tell Vanya that Silas needed to be the only option for King. He just didn’t voice that murder was the way to achieve it. She paid the price with her and her son’s blood. The ginger was the sacrifice needed to raise Silas higher. The bards would sing songs of her horrid “accident” for a few years and sing praises of Silas the Great until the end of times. And Stithulf would be mentioned in every song by name. Sir Stithulf, the Loyal, most trusted man in his king’s court. He was so trusted he would be named the heir after Silas died, which by the number of enemies he made for himself wouldn’t be too long.

All the knight had to do was support Siflæd’s marriage, which put an end to Sila’s engagement, leaving the King with no heir. A few more foiled betrothals like this one, and Silas would give up hope and name him his successor. Any children Siflæd might sire with Ceolmund would “mysteriously” die, and he would be the only option left. He deserves a reward for putting up with Silas.

“Dear people of Kattegat, as you know, Princess Vanya and her son have gone missing. The healer who stayed by her bedside was found today, dead. Someone cut her throat and hid her body in the stables, which means that someone planned to murder them. We must recover Vanya and the child soon. The weather is getting colder, and neither was dressed for the cold.” Bjorn announced to the people who muttered between themselves, their faces twisted in worry.

The good Princess was gone and her child with her, leaving behind her bloodthirsty husband, which meant nothing good for any of them, innocent or otherwise. “People of Kattegat!” Ivar cried out, crawling out of the Hall, tired of listening to Bjorn.

Aslaug runs after him trying to keep him quiet, but Ivar was determined to speak. “You all loved my wife; she fed you and cared for you. And now she needs your help. You all prayed for them to survive, not even a day ago. And now, my son and wife are in danger.” He watched the crowd with calculating eyes, ignoring his aching legs; he had more important things to do. Prove a point and rescue his family.

“Somebody attacked Vanya and our child while they slept, an unarmed woman who just gave birth and a newborn child! We will find them, and I swear to you in their names that the culprit will pay. The worse state they are found, the more painful the killer’s death will be! Hired sellsword, assassin, or whoever you might be…” He paused to let the words sink in. The crowd rioted, agreeing with his hateful rant. He leaned closer to them and clenched his jaw. “I’m going to fucking murder you.”

The folks cheered while his brothers stood behind him, frowning at the threats he made. They agreed that whoever did it must die; everybody did, but Ivar’s speech was different. He was unhinged, and it was surprising that nobody was killed by his hand yet.

The crowd scattered as they searched the town, shores, forests, and hills. Ivar stayed in his spot outside, watching everybody leave while only his mother and Ubbe remained. He saw Brynja run by with furs in her arms if she found Vanya, the servant was a mess just like him, which reassured him. At least he wasn’t the only one losing sleep over her.

The Ragnarsson could hear some praying for their wellbeing. Ivar prayed as well, all the times he begged the gods so his child wouldn’t be like him, and they answered. They gave him a healthy son and let Vanya survive the birth. Only to take them both away when he turned his back. How cruel they were to him; they took his legs, father, and now wife and son. He remained true to them all the time, seventeen years of worshiping them just like Floki taught him. And they took everything from him; they let him find love only to rip it away when he was happy.

A man walked the streets of Kattegat, hidden under his grey cloak and hood with a sword strapped to his side. He watched the people run by searching for something but moved out of their way and made his way into the Great Hall. He looked at the tall building and frowned at the tense atmosphere that surrounded it.

“I stand by my word, Brother! I will kill whoever is responsible!” Ivar hissed, his breath fanning against Ubbe’s face. But the older Ragnarsson didn’t even flinch. Meanwhile, Aslaug poured herself another cup. She needed something to distract herself, or she would go crazy. The gods aren’t answering her prayers; they won’t give her a vision either. She blamed herself, Vanya saw her demise, she begged Aslaug to protect her son. And she dismissed her worries for delusion.

“All I am saying is that you should watch what you say, Ivar. I am not saying that they won’t die. But killing everyone isn’t going to solve anything.”

“I am going to sacrifice them to the gods so they will bring them back! That’s more than you are doing!” The sleep-deprived heathen spat back, throwing his brother’s cup to the floor as a thrall run to clean the mess. “Might as well go and fuck the slave you all share.”

Ubbe shook his head and pushed anything ivar might throw away from his reach. “I am making sure you don’t go around murdering people and don’t die before Vanya is found. If you think that I don’t care, then you are mistaken. She might not have been my wife or the mother of my child, but I loved her nonetheless. She deserved better than having people slaughtered in her name.”

Ivar scoffed at the words and leaned back in his chair by the fire. “I am looking for Princess Vanya!” A voice announced from the door. The Queen and her oldest and youngest sons looked at the intruder.

“And what does a wanderer want with her?” Aslaug questioned, climbing to her feet and walking towards the stranger that she felt she knew. He seemed familiar.

The man looked at her with his emotionless face. “The gods will. I am sure she must have mentioned me. The man in the fire, and the meadow.”

Ivar scoffed and glared at him in disdain and anger. Rolling his eyes, he downed his mother’s cup of ale. “You are the man from her dreams, then?” Aslaug’s eyes widened, looking him over, better. The painted face and dark worn cloak with the sword at his side. Vanya dreamt of him so often and mentioned him to her; she almost felt like she had visions of him herself. The man nodded at the sarcastic question.

“And what’s your name?” Ubbe asked, not believing the man at all. Yet the wanderer ignored the mistrust and answered honestly.

“Hoenir, after the God of Silence.” He explained, looking at them with void eyes, waiting for the Princess to show up. “The Gods spoke to me and told me to find Vanya, to protect her.”

Ivar glared at the wanderer and slammed his fist against the table, making the thralls jump in fright. “You failed already. My wife and our child were attacked while they slept. Their bodies aren’t found.”

Hoenir watched the prince fume and frowned. He didn’t like the answer; he had been traveling from his home for months, and now the one he was supposed to protect is probably dead. “Are you sure she is dead? I dreamt I would meet her here, looking like a Valkyrie.”

Ivar scoffed at that, while Aslaug asked him to help search for Vanya. He agreed and walked towards the coast, watching the waves his the shores of his new home. The sea was empty, and despite the dark weather, was it calm as a storm was brewing but not yet ready to destroy everything in its path.

Far away from the city on a small boat, a little child whined, hidden under a red shield embedded with seven arrows. The babe silently cried from his bed of fishing nets, waiting for somebody to pick him up. But no one listened to his delicate calls, only the ravens flying over the boat croaking but never swooping down to see what’s on the ship.

Everything else was silent as the dark storm clouds gathered in the sky, hiding the sun from view. The waves softly hit the side of the vessel, filled with a barrel of mead and apples. The child whined loud it’s little hands reaching for the sharp arrowheads above his head.

A hand rose from the water; the fingers pale with a blue undertone. It clutched the side of the boat in a death grip. Next emerged ahead of wet red locks and pale blue eyes with blue lips. The woman carefully hauled herself aboard the vessel and collapsed on her back, the whining child on her right side. She gasped and coughed up water watching the blackbirds circle the sky. Her eyes slowly closed, giving in to the desire to sleep while her hungry child cried next to her. But she was too exhausted to let alone breathe. She spent so much time under the water, sticking her nose out for air and holding onto the boat from below, steering it away from the knights’ eyes. Her muscles screamed in protest while the arrow sticking from her shoulder throbbed in pain. With a sigh, she let the darkness consume her.


	23. Odin's ravens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoenir helps look for Vanya, while people start loosing hope. Vanya makes her way home.

When Vanya regained consciousness, it was to the pecking of a raven on her hand. She shooed the bird away and looked down, where her child laid, hungry and upset. The ginger gazed back at the sky to see the birds circle above them. “Have you come to protect your descendant, Odin?”

Of course, there was no answer, just the ravens’ cawing and her son’s cries. So Vanya slowly rose from her position and pulled the shield off her son. The ginger picked him up and pulled him closer to her. The child calmed down a bit and looked up at her in wonder. He reacher for her red locks and clenched them in his tiny fists.

While he fed, he kept staring into her tired eyes surrounded by dark circles. He had his father’s hair, dark and thick; even his eyes belonged to Ivar. The dark shining blue that the Ragnarssons had. But he had her nose and cheeks and her smile. He smiled like her when he was fed and satisfied.

Despite the ordeal they both went through, he didn’t cry in fear, only hunger. He was strong and brave, just like Aslaug promised. “We will go back home, and we will bring the man who attacked us to justice. We will be with Ivar once again, safe and sound. I swear to you, my child, no one will hurt you ever again.”

Vanya kissed his little forehead and nose before putting him back into his makeshift bed of fisher nets and fur. The Princess grimaced as the arrow in her shoulder moved. She needed to get it out and clean it before it got infected.

Taking a deep breath, Vanya braced her back against the barrel of mead and wrapped her hand around the arrow. She steeled herself and pulled the weapon out of herself. With a final grunt, the bolt was free, and she threw it into the water. Vanya slumped against the boat and breathed through the pain. “Birth was still more painful.”

She ripped a piece of her dress and dunked it into the mead before slapping it against her wound. Hissing, she munched on the apples on the ship and checked on her baby. The ravens continued cawing over them, so she threw the apple core on the other side of the boat for them to eat. “That’s the best sacrifice I can give you.” She muttered sarcastically.

She was tired, pissed, and in pain. She deserves a whole week of sleep when she gets home. And a bath. Nice looong and warm. Maybe she could ask for a foot rub as well.

“Ok, now I am being delusional.” Vanya chuckled, filling herself a cup with mead and downing it. She grimaced at the taste, sat in the middle of the boat, grabbed the oars, and rowed towards the east. While she swam under the ship before, she kept track of steering the vessel in one direction, making it easier to return to Kattegat.

Sigurd and Hvitserk walked alongside Hoenir through the hills of Kattegat, the same place where Ubbe found Floki. The wanderer walked a good distance before them, searching the grounds for tracks.

“Maybe the reason why he is named after Hoenir is that he is always silent. What if it isn’t his real name?” Hvitserk suggested watching the dark cloak trail over the stony ground before them.

Sigurd shrugged and looked around, trying to spot a redhead hiding here somewhere, hopefully alive. “Maybe he is the actual God of silence.”

“Maybe he is just tired of listening to you two talk?” Hoenir called from the front, not turning around to see their reactions. The two Ragnarssons stopped in their tracks and watched him proceed on.

Suddenly he stopped and faced them, looking drained. “Why are we so far away from the hut? You said that the healer was killed there. There is no way she could have fled this far with a babe just after giving birth.”

The two brothers stopped and looked at each other; the truth is Bjorn told them to search the hills. They were as clueless about the reason why as Hoenir. Sigurd turned his eyes to the floor, ashamed of what came to his mind. “Bjorn doesn’t think she is alive. We aren’t looking for her hiding spot, but for the bodies.”

Hvitserk shook his head at the ridiculous assumption his younger brother made. “Come on, that’s stupid. Bjorn wouldn’t do that!”

“Your brother has seen people die in battle from lesser things. A princess, untrained, unarmed, and with a newborn by her side, doesn’t have the strength to survive. Not in his eyes anyway.”

“And what about you? Huh, Hoenir? Why do you think she is alive?” Sigurd spat back at the emotionless wanderer, who declared that the gods sent him to protect Vanya. For all they knew, he could have heard that she went missing and tried to gather information.

Hoenir strode towards them; the princes braced themselves for a fight that didn’t come. Instead, he walked past them, back from where they came. “I had a vision I met her in the Great Hall. None of my visions are ever wrong. So I am going back there.”

“You have visions? Like Mother?” Hvitserk called out, running after the speed walking nomad. The said man twisted on his heel, causing the flaxen-haired heathen to nearly crash into him.

“The Queen has visions?” The two nodded. “And did she see anything about Vanya?” They shook their heads.

“Nothing. She tried praying too, but nothing’s happening.” Hoenir absorbed the information and continued walking with a frown on his face.

The two Ragnarssons watched him leave, both annoyed by his behavior. “I hope Vanya and the babe are safe. I want to see her reaction to the Silent Nomad.” Sigurd scoffed and pulled his brother along, back to the Great Hall.

“Maybe she will like him? I mean, she likes Ivar, and he is a handful too.” Hvitserk commented on thinking of his unstable brother, who woke up screaming every time they managed to put him to bed. He was losing it, and they couldn’t do anything. Finding Vanya alive would be the only solution to their problem, but the chances of that were low. They hated to think of it, but Bjorn was right. What were the chances of their survival? All the Gods would have to stand behind them for them to be still alive.

Sigurd feared for Ivar’s wellbeing and, in turn, their own as well. According to Ubbe, Ivar wants to make human sacrifices to please the gods and return Vanya and the child safely. If they found only the bodies, he would lose it. Vanya was the one thing that could calm him down. Aslaug and Ubbe wouldn’t be enough to tame the beast. And with Vanya gone, he will slaughter everyone in his path, including them, family or not.

Hoenir cursed the gods for this trial; he was supposed to find Vanya and protect her. He dreamt of her weeks before she first dreamt of him. He did what they bid him do, and when all was done, he went on this journey to her. Only to discover that the Princess is gone, probably dead, and that she was with a child that is also gone and probably dead.

Back at his former home, he worked for a seer. The old woman took him in, saying it was the will of the gods; at the time, he was sure she just wanted some company. But then he had a vision in front of her. The old crone taught him the true meaning of his dreams and the true way of the gods. Ever since he did as the god’s bid, now look where it got him—a hillside with two princes gossiping about him within the hearing range.

But at least they were useful for something. The seer told him that he could only talk to the Princess if she also had a gift from the gods. But he couldn’t speak to her anymore, which meant two things. She was either dead or no longer had the gift. And the only way that could be possible is if the gift wasn’t hers from the start.

Foresight wasn’t in Vanya’s blood. It was in Ivar’s blood, passed down from Aslaug. This meant the one with the ability to see the future was the child inside Vanya’s womb, and when the child was born, she no longer had the gift.

But figuring that out wasn’t worth anything; it was just a possibility that Vanya isn’t dead. Or it might be dismissed as a hoax, and he will get a cup thrown at him, just like when asked Ivar why he wasn’t searching as well. The cripple looked like he actually wanted to strangle him instead but was held back by his brother. Luckily for Hoenir, cause he had no experience fighting little madmen with no legs.

His comment was proven false anyway; Ivar spent all the time dragging himself around the hut, trying to find any signs of his wife. He might not be able to walk, but he was smarter than most. The folks searched everywhere for the body or culprits, but Hoenir was sure that neither would be in the woods or hills. No, the killer could still be here, closer than one would think.

He came to a stop near the stables and watched the foreigners move around. They weren’t dressed like Northmen. He strode forward and loomed over them, casting a dark shadow over their shiny armor. “Who are you?”

“We don’t understand.” One of them spoke in a language that he never heard before.

Sigurd and Hvitserk run up behind him and pulled the tall wanderer back a few steps. “This is Hoenir; he is new here,” Hvitserk explained, putting a hand on his shoulder only for him to shrug it off.

“Who are they?” Hoenir questioned in Norse, ignoring the offended looks on the stranger’s faces, now that they couldn’t understand what was being said.

“Knights of King Silas. He is Vanya’s brother, from England.” The younger Ragnarsson explained, looking at the wanderer oddly. But he just nodded and walked past them towards the Great hall with the two annoyed brothers behind him, complaining about his rudeness. One would think they were used to it, being related to Ivar.

He walked into the hall to see a fisherman stand muttering with Aslaug while Ivar, Bjorn, and Ubbe talked of the ground already covered. “Those knights from England. Why are they still here?”

The brothers all looked at him strangely and exchanged glances. The one to ask the question was Aslaug. “They are helping us look for Vanya. Why?”

He strode towards the table and poured himself a cup of mead, chewing on a chicken leg, all abandoned by Ivar in favor of brooding. “They don’t look happy, keep glaring at each other. That man with the crown looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else. So I wonder why they are here. They got even angrier when they heard that I am helping look for Vanya.”

“Vanya is Silas’s sister. Not that it means much to him, but he is helping us look. Cause it’s the right thing to do.” Hoenir nodded at Ubbe’s words, not believing them at all.

“And he is also surrounded by angry and worried heathens. So he is kind of obligated to help.” Bjorn added, standing from the table and straightening his back to intimidate the man who never took his hood off. But he wasn’t impressed; in turn, Hoenir looked into Bjorn’s eyes, silently challenging him to say what he wanted to say. “They were all here when everything went down if that’s what you are thinking. Silas was behind the table, and the thralls saw all six knights in the hall.”

“Other than you who just showed up after Vanya went missing. You are also armed, could have killed the healer.” Sigurd pointed out his hand twitching to the axe next to Ivar. The youngest Ragnarsson also tensed and clenched the cup in his hand tighter. His knuckles turned white; any more pressure, and it would crack in his grip.

“And maybe you hid the bodies in the hills and didn’t want us to find them, so you made us return.” Hvitserk pressed on as the room grew silent. Everyone was ready to kill at the slightest sign of malice.

Hoenir shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked at Ivar. “I did not kill your wife. I came here to protect her, and now that she had one, your child as well. I traveled a long way to find her, made a lot of sacrifices to warn her. I saw her drown in the waters. So I told her to hold on till I came here.”

“That’s the first time you mention the vision. What did you see?” Ivar spat his eyes cold; he looked like death, like Helheim in human form.

“I saw her drown; I don’t know more. I just saw her underwater, trying to swim up. There was a lot of blood. I didn’t mention it because every time I talk, there are weapons near you.” Ivar seethed in his chair, ready to launch himself at the cloaked man.

Every time anyone mentioned the possibility of the child and Vanya being dead, he planned their murders. They were both missing for a day, and he was torn between killing everyone to avenge them or killing himself to join them.

“But she survives. I met her in my vision. Here in this hall. She is alive!” Hoenir argued, glaring at the Ragnarssons hostile expressions. Only Aslaug looked hopeful if the gods showed him that she lived, and he wasn’t lying, then she would return. All they had to do was find her.

Vanya sat in the boat as the sunset behind them; the air grew colder as she clutched her son to her chest, humming a tune to lull him to sleep. She felt numb from the cold that was harder on her still wet body and hair, the cloak she found not of much help. Her red hair was tied in a braid to keep it out of her face while she rowed, but Vanya didn’t have enough strength to do it for long.

Her shoulder hurt from the strain, and the apples and mead didn’t give her enough energy. All it did was give her milk to nurse her child. It didn’t matter if she caught a fever, as long as he was fed and warm. He had to survive; she didn’t carry him for nine months and suffered through labor just to let him die. Not if she could do anything about it.

The boat drifted along the river now; if she managed to keep the course, she might reach Floki’s hut. If he or Helga were home, they would help her and return her home. If not, she would make the travel herself.


	24. I'll run to you

When Vanya was a little girl, she dreamt of marrying a noble Prince and becoming his Queen. She imagined a huge castle and her father visiting her as often as possible. Even her mother was proud of her for being a good Christian wife.

Never did she dream of being here, drifting on a boat with a sore shoulder, woozy from mead with her sleeping heathen son in her lap. Why must dreams always be so wrong?

But truth to be told, she loved the life she lived now. Well, not right now, but the last year. Her experience in Kattegat was perfect. Despite his short temper, Ivar was a good man. He loved her unconditionally, protected her, and listened to her. His brothers were kind to her, and she trusted them with her life. Even Sigurd, with who she sometimes butted heads. She had a friend and found a mother in Aslaug and Helga.

She missed them so much. Two days on the water made her want to cry. She cried nowadays more than the babe she gave birth to. He seemed content; he loved watching the ravens fly over their heads and played with her hair when she held him.

How funny it seemed to her that she loved sailing when she came here. Now she yearned to stand on dry land and sleep in a warm bed wrapped in Ivar’s arms.

Whenever Vanya didn’t think of home, she thought of Silas, especially what she would do to him. She had been meek and peaceful for so long, forgave him everything he did to her. But that changes now; he didn’t just hurt her or degrade her. He tried to kill her and her son. His knights murdered an innocent woman. He would pay the blood price for it. 

The raven made a sound and left their usual circling spot. Vanya watched them go and perked up. Land. It meant land was near. She put her child into the nets and rowed towards the direction the birds flew.

Her shoulder screamed in protest, and she felt it reopen as her dress got wet with blood. She ignored it and kept on rowing. She was out of food, and the mead wouldn’t last more than two cups. They needed to find water and food.

Ivar laid in his bed, sweat dripping from his forehead, the whites of his eyes blue. His legs hurt too much today; he had to stay in bed but couldn’t sleep at all. All he could do was lay there in pain and think of all the ways he will torture Vanya’s attacker. He prayed to the Gods that she was still alive. Two days ago, she went missing, and everyone was losing hope.

Aslaug had no visions, and Hoenir was no help. He dragged himself to the Seer yesterday, but all he got was vague answers. “You know the answer, Boneless.” He knew Vanya had grown stronger and that she promised to protect their son. But so did he, and now, he doesn’t know where she is or if she is even alive.

He promised her that no one would ever lay a hand on her again, and he failed. If he ever saw her again, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

“Drink the tea, Ivar. It will help.” Ubbe ordered, walking into the room, looking at the untouched cup on Ivar’s bedside. Right next to the tea was the carved figure of Fenrir and Vanya’s serpent necklace.

“Did you find her? Anything?” Ivar begged as his brother wiped his damp forehead.

Ubbe shook his head and put the rag down. “A fisherman’s boat went missing two days ago. Mother thinks Vanya might have taken it. So we sent some boats out to look for her. But if she drifted out into the open…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence for Ivar to understand. If Vanya drifted away, the storm that was gathering would sink her ship and drown them both. Hoenir saw her drown; what if he was right and she would? No amount of sacrifices would bring her back then. He would be alone again, with Aslaug the only one to love him. Ubbe might love him, but there are moments he must wish his brother wasn’t alive.

The times he had to carry him or stay at home because Ivar was in pain. Having to check on his legs and eyes all the time. In everybody’s eyes, Ivar was a burden; he was aware of it. Vanya was the only one who didn’t care or look down on him. In her eyes, Ivar was perfect despite his shortcomings. Over time, she grew used to his temper and pain. She comforted him, held him, whispered sweet words into his ear as he fell asleep.

She loved him, and he left her alone after she bore him a son. He didn’t even get to hold him. His perfect son, who had his eyes and hair. His healthy boy. Ivar hated himself, but he hated the world more.

“How long we have to keep looking? It’s been two days now. The corpses must show up soon.” Pæga complained, pulling off his boots and sinking his feet into the bowl with water.

Silas glared at the knight and stabbed his dagger into the table. “Boats were sent out to search for her, a fisherman’s boat went missing, they think Vanya is in it. If she survived and they find her… My sister saw your faces. She isn’t so stupid to fall for a few farmers in your clothes. If you get caught, then it means my death as well.” He spat at his knights while Stithulf sat in the corner, sharpening his sword.

“I doubt she is alive. She doesn’t strike me as a survivor. Vanya was sent here to wither and die, to break and suffer. She might have charmed her way around Kattegat. But smiles and gifts aren’t going to save her from death. She was hit with an arrow; I saw her sink. All they will find is a dead child in the boat. Vanya is dead, and you are the only possible ruler of Slegia.”

Stithulf stood up after his rant and walked towards his King. He lifted the crown from the table and put it on his head. “A crown for a King. The one true King. Vanya will never wear this thing; neither will her children; I made sure of it.”

Silas nodded and proudly pushed his chest out. The knight was right; he was the King, and Vanya was dead. First, he dealt with her; next is his mother and her new husband. Then his uncle and Wrosan will be his. The victory was certain.

Vanya hauled herself from the boat and pulled it on land so the tide wouldn’t wash it away. Her son stirred in his little bed while Vanya collapsed on the ground, exhausted.

The ravens left them alone, and she had no idea where to go. This part of Kattegat was unfamiliar to her. So as she laid there, she prayed to the Gods to show her a way to get home. But no sign of help came.

So she wrapped herself tighter in her cloak and took her child with her, heading west, the other way than she drifted off. She needed to get to a familiar location: the hunting hut, Floki’s house, or even the forest before Kattegat.

Vanya walked with her son in her arms, without a pause. She managed to find some berries Helga taught her were edible and a stream of water. After she ate, she fed her son and carried on in her way. Her feet were sore, and her son was becoming too heavy for her weak arms.

Other than wilderness and silence, there was nothing around her. Every tree looked the same, and the shade they gave her made navigating with the sun harder. She shivered as the winds grew colder.

When her son whimpered in her arms, she froze. Her being cold wasn’t that bad. But to him, it meant death. So she carefully put him on the ground and took off her cloak, and swaddled him in it. Her thinned down frame shook in the cold winds while her son burrowed himself into the new warmth.

Vanya looked down at his little content face and smiled. All of this hardship was worth it if he was healthy and alive. This life she created and carries inside her, that she spent hours bringing into the world. It meant everything to her; it hurt to admit that her mother was right. A mother has no choice but to love her child; only a monster would ignore her own blood like that. But the thing Siflaed was wrong about was that Vanya did love Ivar. Despite everything she heard about him and his people, she grew to love him no, her people. Kattegat was her home now; she was born to live here; she knew it.

And when she returned, she would never leave again; she would remain and raise her son. She would see all the other sons of Ragnar start their own families and see Aslaug grow old. Hold Bjorn’s adorable children and gossip with Torvi and Brynja. She would sit on the bench in front of the Great Hall, sewing a dress together, with Ivar by her side with their son in his arms. Vanya would come to visit Helga and Floki more often like she promised she would and try to make Margrethe less afraid of Ivar. He wasn’t the monster; everyone made him out to be; her husband had a lonely heart with high walls made of anger.

She remembered the story of Eve and the Devil. The way the serpent tricked Eve into eating the apple and be banished from Eden for it. She also remembered the story one of Siflaed’s lovers told her of the Greek goddess Persephone and the pomegranate. How Hades offered the fruit to her, and she stayed with him as his wife.

But Vanya didn’t feel like Eve; her husband was no evil serpent leading her on. He was Hades, the god known for his dark demeanor, but a good husband. She wasn’t a meek Christian like Eve; Vanya was Persephone. A good heart with love for nature, married to a man of shadowed behavior who everyone feared. But they both held darkness and light, she wasn’t just a maiden who plucked blooming flowers, and Ivar wasn’t just an angry heathen with a quick tongue. Her tongue was as equally sharp as his and his love as real as hers. They were King and Queen of the Underworld, Prince, and Princess of Kattegat.

With determination, Vanya strode on, thankful for the shoes she managed to put on before her escape. Walking barefoot on top of lightly dressed would have meant her death. She could hear an owl hoot somewhere behind her until it flew past her and landed on a branch. “Frigga.” She whispered as the bird stared at her with yellow eyes, its white feathers standing out in the treetops.

“Have you come to take me home, All-Mother? Odin’s ravens looked over my son and me on the boat, and now you have come for us. Goddess of mothers and queens, of war, wisdom, and strategy. I beg you, take me home.” She begged the hooting white owl that took off and landed on another branch, waiting for the ginger to follow.

Vanya chuckled at sight and followed after the frequently stopping bird. “This better is Frigga, or I will die. That’s your descendant on the line, Odin. Don’t let me die, All-father, All-mother.”

Everyone stood gathered in the Great Hall in the evening, waiting for what Aslaug had to say. Silas stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by his armed knights. “My brother Ivar was graced with a son three days ago. But his son and wife were ripped away by a murderer, who sneaked into their hut and killed the wet nurse.” Bjorn announced, watching the faces of everyone present.

Floki and Helga leaned a support beam, both looking grim, while the boatbuilder glared at Silas. Ivar sat next to his mother, with Hoenir standing behind them. Brynja and Margrethe watched the whole ordeal from their place with the other servants and slaves. The other brothers stood behind Bjorn, who towered over the room, reminding all of their father. He carried the same authority even without a crown on his head.

Aslaug lifted her head higher and wrapped his fingers around the armrests of her throne. “The one responsible will answer to the Gods. The more blood they have on their hands, the more dire their demise will be. This person is charged with treason and murder…”

Ubbe left his mother’s side while she talked and walked with Floki and Hoenir towards the exits. They barricaded the door while no one was watching. The only way to open them now would be from the outside, where Floki stood watch.

“The return of my daughter in law Vanya is becoming unlikely. A funeral will be held soon to honor her death; Floki has agreed to build a boat to bury her. If she is not found until the ship is done, we shall burn some of her possessions instead.”

Stithulf observed the heathens around him; they seemed on edge, ready to pounce at any moment. Of course, Silas was obvious to all this, too distracted by the Queen’s speech to notice.

“But, we do know the one responsible for this tragedy.” The knight's head snapped towards the throne. Everyone grew silent, waiting for Aslaug to continue. “We questioned people and gathered that there is only one possible suspect behind all this. Someone willing to murder a mother and child in their sleep.”

The room was tense as if a war would erupt at any moment. Ivar clenched his jaw before smirking at Silas, who froze in his spot.

“How do you answer these charges… King Silas?” The Saxon’s breaths hitched in fear as the knights wrapped their hands around their swords’ handles, ready to draw them and kill everyone. But they were outnumbered and locked in with bloodthirsty heathens.

“This is outrageous! I loved my sister. And you are claiming me as a murderer only because you failed to find the real one. My sister is dead because of you!” He roared at the remaining sons of Ragnar and his wife. But they didn’t even flinch. All the Queen did, was push her shoulders back and raise an eyebrow at his outburst.

“So you claim, but there is no proof. All we saw were spiteful words and tantrums. You bribed farmers to change clothes with your knights; then, you ordered them to kill Vanya and her son. But Margrethe remembered their faces, and it wasn’t the faces we see here today.” Sigurd called out as the said thrall covered behind Brynja. She confessed this to Sigurd last night, and since then, the Ragnarsson and Aslaug had been plotting.

Silas frowned and shook his head, chuckling. “And do tell me… What would my reason be? Sibling rivalry? Don’t be ridiculous. I may not have been overly fond of my sister, I admit. But I wouldn’t murder her. And the baby? Son or not, I hold no ill will against either.”

“Vanya and her son possessed a threat to you, childless, unfit to rule. But Vanya is loved here, and I am sure she was the same in England. You ordered her death and will die for it. An eye for an eye.” Bjorn threatened as Silas gulped and gave an uneasy smile.

He shrugged and spread his arms wide to show he was unarmed and possessed no threat to them, other than his knights who drew their swords. “Let’s spare ourselves these dramatics. Vanya is dead, and I am not the culprit. Let’s not have a ghost of a disobedient whore get between our agreement.”

Ivar slammed his fist against his chair and glared at the daring King. He would have leaped out of his seat and strangled the bastard if it wasn’t for Bjorn, Sigurd, and Hvitserk holding him back. “How dare you?” The Ragnarsson roared, his nostrils flaring in rage.

Silas pointed to Ivar’s legs with a smirk. "Your… Affliction. Do you really think the child was yours? My darling sister would do anything to please you as a proper wife should. And giving you a child, even one that’s not truly yours. It would please you. Wouldn’t it? To think that you are a real man, able to produce an heir.“ The blonde Christian taunted as everyone glared at what he was suggesting.

"I did you a favor before things escalated, and you would believe other idiotic lies my sister would have fed you to keep herself alive a little longer. I saved you from further embarrassment and grief. Vanya is dead, and there is nothing to change that.” He sounded at peace with his oncoming death. Silas knows he and his knights will die but might as well anger the heathens some more. Die a horrid death and go down in history as a martyr: Saint Silas, The tortured King.

Stithulf, on the other hand, looked distressed, all the whispering he did, all for nothing. All his hard work wasted on a foolish king with a big ego and greedy heart. His chance at fame and ruling, all gone because of a ginger Princess who just couldn’t stay meek and timid like she was meant to be.

The sound of something shattering broke the tense atmosphere. Everyone looked at the redheaded servant that let her jug of water fall to the floor. “Vanya.” She whispered, her face pale and eyes wide. They followed her gaze and gazed at the open door in shock.

“Why do you think I am dead, Brother?” Vanya’s voice rasped out as the ginger leaned against the door frame, a shield pierced with many arrows in one hand. Her hair was frizzy, her skin pale, and her eyes sunken in. Her white dress was stained with bloody some on her shoulder, the rest on her lap, from childbirth.

She took a shaky step forward and shifted her arms slightly. Helga runs to her side, and Floki stood behind her in case she fell. The Ragnarssons run to her while Ivar stared at her in shock. Standing up, Aslaug observed the presumably dead Princess in wonder.

“Helga, you need to look after my son. I tried to keep him warm and fed. Please check him.” Vanya pleaded with the blonde woman, letting the shield riddled with arrows fall to the floor. Hidden behind the protection was a bundle of furs and cloak, squirming at the new warm place they entered.

Helga shakily took the babe out of Vanya’s trembling embrace to see the child alive and well despite the ordeals he went through. She ushered the child away as Ubbe reached his sister in law, laying a hand on her shoulder to steady her. But she shook it off and slowly advanced towards Silas, who took a few steps towards her as well.

“How? You should be dead.” He whispered, still in denial that his plan didn’t work.

“I forgave you so much, Silas. So many wounds. I forgave them all, ignored them, and asked my family to ignore them as well. But that ends today. You killed an innocent woman! You tried to kill my son!”

Silas shook his head, refusing to admit defeat against his little sister. His foolish sister, who was born weak and was meant to abide by him. The one who defied him and survived. “You won’t hurt me, Vanya. You are weak. Remember your place, and we can forget this. Beg me for forgiveness, and I shall grant it to you. All I want in return is to save passage back home. Kill my knights instead.”

“You think I will beg? I did nothing to ask forgiveness for! You are a monster, Silas. Just like father and mother said you were. Do you think I will cower before you? Just because you are my brother?” She seethed, stalking towards him as Silas drew a dagger and pointed it at her, shaking, fearful of this side of Vanya.

The ginger keeps on advancing, not caring for the weapon pointed at her. The adrenaline running through her veins made her forget what fear feels like at all. All she could see was the man who made her life a living hell and tried to kill her son! “Blessed are the meek, Vanya.” He reminded her, hoping that the sentence that their mother used to drill into her head would calm her down, but his sister didn’t even blink.

“Yes. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” She spat back a part of the Beatitudes, laughing at his poor attempt at containing her rage. “Do you think the words of Jesus or God will stop me? Do you honestly believe that you will be forgiven? I am past forgiveness and meekness! I want you to pay for my and my son’s suffering in blood!”

Silas took a few steps back, his hand shaking like crazy. Vanya was nearly in front of him now, her hand grasped his dagger around the sharp edge, no fear in her eyes. They looked like frozen over fjord’s, determination and anger swirling around. She tugged his knife from his grasp and threw it behind her, surprising everyone. Blood dripped from the cut on her palm, trailing down her slender fingers and hitting the floorboards.

“I would burn cities and kingdom’s to the ground and make him King of the Ashes if they dared to threaten him!” She screamed at her brother, getting into his face and glaring up at him as he shook in his spot.

“Vanya, please, have mercy. I am your brother. I did it to protect my claim. You must understand. I was born to rule; I deserve to sit on the throne for eternity. Please have mercy.” The two siblings stared into each other’s eyes, the frozen fjords meeting the tearful sky.

She softly shook her head and softened her angry expression. Ivar crawled towards them, observing the blood-stained dagger and her bleeding hand clenched by her side. “Mercy is a Christian value, and I am not Christian anymore.” She hissed, backhanding him with her bleeding left hand so hard that he hit the floor.

Silas cradled his aching cheek and stared at Vanya in shock. The ginger glared down at him with disdain obvious in her expression. “That’s why I wish you the most painful death instead.” She spat at him before two men dragged him away as he cried and cursed at them, begging them to let him go as other Vikings killed his knights when they dared to attack.

Ivar crawled to Vanya’s left and took her cold bleeding hand in his, startling her from her trance. She looked down at him tenderly as he looked over her tired body. “I missed you.” He whispered, staring up at her with adoration as she returned his tender look, softly smiling.

“I missed you too.” Ubbe supported her swaying frame and carried her towards the awaiting healers, thanking the gods for her return, alive and well. Ivar watched her get carried away and spared a glance at the dead bodies of the Saxon knights before he followed his brother and wife.


	25. Beginings and endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The naming ceremony and Silas’s punishment

Vanya sat in the Great Hall next to Ivar in a new white dress, her hair loose around her shoulders. She observed the marks on the table, trailing her fingers over them. Everyone around her talked, too, focused on their plans of Silas’s punishment to even notice her despair.

The man from her dreams, Hoenir, sat on her right, while Ivar sat on her left. Brynja and Margrethe run around their table, serving their meal. It has been two days since Vanya returned home. She got some deserved rest, but her mind was plagued with her worries.

They wouldn’t let her see her son; sometimes, when everything grew quiet, she could hear him cry. It tore at her heart, but according to the healers, she was in no state to be near a newborn. During her time on the run, she caught a cold, her fever was high, and she felt like throwing up after every meal.

Listening to the Ragnarsson, Aslaug, Floki, and Helga argue about what to do with Silas wasn’t what she yearned to do. “Are you alright, Vanya?” Brynja questioned her a soft hand on her shoulder, steadying the swaying princess. Vanya nodded tiredly and leaned against Ivar’s shoulder.

The Viking entwined their hands together and kissed her damp temple.

He asked her to stay in bed, but Vanya knew she had to be there, no matter how much she hated it. She sentenced Silas to death; it’s her duty to help choose the way he will die. “Let’s burn him alive,” Hvitserk suggested once again, causing his brothers to roll their eyes.

“Slit his throat; that’s what he wanted to happen to Vanya.” Sigurd countered, but the others disagreed again.

“Too kind, it must be more painful and drawn out.” Ivar reminded them, his left hand in a tight fist while his right one squeezed Vanya’s hand tighter, to remember that she is here.

Floki raised his cup and giggled in the mad way he always does. “Skin him alive.” He offered but was shot down as well. Everyone kept suggesting different methods of execution, all rejected one by one. It was getting tiring for Vanya, draining her of the last bits of strength she regained.

“Maybe you should lay down, Vanya. You don’t look so good.” Ubbe softly told her, looking at her with tender eyes. She looked broken, her left hand wrapped in bandages to cover her cut. There was also a bandage on the cauterized wound on her shoulder. It would scar, which she didn’t care about. Ivar was right; it was a sign of survival, a proof of her strength.

She shook her head and straightened in her seat to look healthier than she felt. “I can’t sleep or rest anymore. I need to be here so Silas can be dealt with. He needs to die a painful death, I promised him that, and that’s what will happen. No arrows or drowning or hanging. My brother needs to suffer as I suffered; at least I am sparing him the pain of not knowing if you will survive.” She spat angrily, slumping back in her chair, exhausted. How pathetic was she? She couldn’t even talk without getting tired.

She sighed and moved to stand up, Hoenir rising as well. The silent stranger followed her around like a shadow. He sat in front of her hut with his sword drawn, only letting family and Brynja in. The servant found his mysteriousness and silence charming; Vanya found it eerie. She yearned for human contact, not a silent wall lurking around. Ivar spent every waking moment by her side as well, always checking on her and touching her in some way. More for his sanity than her’s.

He didn’t check on their son either, too afraid to leave her alone. Vanya was thankful for his protectiveness; she missed it. But she yearned for her son as well; what if he was sick as well?

Vanya made her way towards their chambers and laid down to sleep with Ivar by her side, wrapped around her like a vice but still somehow comforting. She could feel his chest fall and rise against her back, but sleep wouldn’t take her. Her eyes were wide open, and her heartbeat frantically, on guard despite being safe. Nightmares plagued her rest nearly every night, dreams of drowning, freezing, or waking up to her son’s corpse in her arms.

Everyone treated her like a broken toy, too scarred by what happened to her to be whole again. In the end, Silas had won. Nine months ago, he sent her here to wither and die. And now she looks half dead and feels hollow. With a shuttering breath, Vanya slowly crawled out of Ivar’s arms and into the street, walking past Hoenir, who slept by the door. She shook him awake and made him follow her to the hut where Silas is held.

“Are you sure you want to see him?” The Silent wandered questioned her, but the ginger only nodded and ordered the guards to let her in.

The hut was lit with candles and smelled of wine and piss. Two aromas that Silas always despised, how fitting that it would be the last things he would know. “She lives.” A voice rasped from a corner startling her.

With some difficulty and grunts, Silas rose from his hiding place behind the bed. He looked just as bad as her. Two days in a cell, and he was filthy, drunk, and pathetic. It suited him, pain and despair. “You look terrible.”

He chuckled and collapsed back into a chair, the furniture nearly topping over from the force. “I always imagined myself immortal. Forever alive and in people’s minds. And here I am. Covered in piss, looking like some kitchen rat.” He spat on the ground glaring at everything around him.

Vanya took his sorry state in, tucking it into the back of her mind to remember him by. Not the cruel King with a crown on his head, but as nothing better than a beggar with one foot in the grave. “You are human, just like everyone else. Everyone dies, Silas. Even Kings.”

Silas scoffs and hurls his cup towards her; the guards and Hoenir barge in but stand back when Vanya raises a hand, palm facing Silas. “It’s alright. Please leave.” The three men leave brother and sister alone to talk. One last conversation before Silas pays for his crimes.

Her brother watches the display of power that Vanya possesses and reached towards the last piece of bread he had left. He tore at it like a savage, disgusting even himself. All his grace and power stripped away by his sister, how the tables have turned. “You mean Father, don’t you?”

Vanya looked at him, puzzled, unaware of what he meant by the comment. But Silas didn’t wait for her to question him; he pointed the finger at her and chuckled. “You always talked of that bastard. Alive or dead, you worshipped him, even though there was nothing special about him. You have no idea what kind of inconsiderate prick he was.”

“Father was a good person, far better than you or me.” Vanya insisted, not letting him insult their late father.

Silas sneered and threw a piece of bread at her, that she batted away before it hit her face. She frowned at his ridiculous behavior, fed up with his dramatics. “Of course, you would think that you were his favorite. You were the obedient child with big sad doe eyes. Do you know what I was? I was the embarrassment, the reject. I was three, and he called me a monster. All because I didn’t follow his rules.”

The ginger shook her head and walked closer to Silas. “Father loved you, but you were always so quick to start a fight. He tried to make you a good king, but you rejected him, and now here we are.”

“Ah, yes, here we are. The Monster and the Gifted one.” Silas swallowed the last piece of bread and spread his arms wide in a mocking gesture. He didn’t love me, or you or anyone else. Osmond used people, you stupid wench! He married a girl half his age, filled her with seed, and when the child didn’t meet his expectations, he threw them both away and fucked everything pretty. And then you were born, perfect little Vanya - the Gracious gift of God. You nodded along to everything and did as he said. Other than me, who had his own opinions.“

Vanya scoffed and licked her dry lips to hold back the foul words on the tip of her tongue. "Father was a good King and a better parent than Mother. You spat, beat, and laughed at other children. You were always rotten, Silas. And Father knew it, so did Mother.”

“I did it to get attention; no one would pay attention to the reject! Before you were born, I was the perfect firstborn. But not to him! To Father, I was the little monstrosity that refused to keep quiet about his affair. I was three and saw him fucking another woman. I told Mother, and he grew angry with me; by the time you were born, I was a bastard in their eyes. The one that destroyed their marriage, as if I was the one getting his dick wet behind my wife’s back.”

The princess stared at Silas in shock; Osmond always said that his son was born cruel. To think all of the cruelty, hate, and violence came from their parent’s treatment. Siflaed was a neglectful mother, and it turns out Osmond was no better. Vanya always saw him as a smart man with good intentions, when in truth, he was nothing like that.

“He was a good King, true. But a terrible Father, husband, and person. Just like me.” Silas smirked at his small victory, while Vanya frowned at him. “He treated you better because you were naive and gullible. All the talk of duty, putting the kingdom first and God. You were born to be a bargaining chip, just like Mother, married off to the highest bidder. Face it; there is no kindness in our blood.”

“I am not you or them!” Vanya insisted, causing Silas to laugh.

“If that’s what you like to believe.”

Vanya slammed her hands against the table, startling Silas. She huffed and got in his face, her eyes as cold as ice. “You did horrible things to me and everyone around you. I am nothing like you.”

“If you want to blame anyone, then blame Stithulf.”

“Stithulf didn’t order men to murder three people!” Vanya spat at him, remembering the blonde man who talked to her about Silas as a King. How charming he seemed, the two-faced bastard.

“He reminded me what a threat you and your child pose to my reign. He told me the only way to ensure my glory and throne was to kill anyone who wants to take it away. First you and your child, then Mother’s brother Æthelric. He said I was meant to rule, that the world would remember me. And they will. These heathens of yours will kill me, probably torture as well. And the church will name me a martyr for my faith, and history will remember me as Silas the Great.” Silas boasted, throwing his arms around and nearly falling out of his chair in the process.

Vanya shook her head and looked at the cross on his desk, the one he gifted her, their father’s cross. “Only those who lived a righteous life can be names martyrs. You executed, hurt, and humiliated people. You are no saint, Silas, and the church won’t care for your death. Terrible people don’t go to heaven.”

The older Saxon rose from the chair and leaned against the table, looking into his wine cup. “Then, I shall see you in Hell. That’s where you heathen scum will all go. And we can burn side by side as we did in our cribs.” He raised his cup and downed it in one go before letting it slip through his fingers and hit the ground. “Farewell, Sister.”

He stumbled towards his bed and collapsed on it face first, his white shirt falling lower, exposing his shoulder blades. Vanya watched his naked back; she then turned on her heel and left the hut to return to her own. She made a decision. Yesterday Ivar explained to her all the ways Vikings executed people, and one seemed perfect to Vanya now.

Her husband sat up in their bed, looking at Vanya with tired eyes. “Where did you go? Are you hurt?”

“Blood eagle,” Vanya answered, confusing Ivar further.

“What?”

She sighed and sat down next to him, looking into his eyes. “The way we should kill Silas. You should Blood Eagle him after the naming ceremony.” She explained as Ivar nodded, still confused about the sudden decision.

Vanya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling her shoulders get lighter. As if the weight on them dropped, making breathing easier than before. She opened her icy eyes again and stared into her husband’s stormy hues. “What is it, Min elskede (My beloved)?”

She chuckled at the tender tone, having missed the endearment more than she thought was possible. “I was terrified out there, Ivar. I thought I would never see you or Kattegat ever again.” Tears gathered in her eyes, her lips shaking from the oncoming sobs.

Ivar cupped her cheek and wiped her tear away with his thumb. “You are here now. And nobody will ever take you away from me. I will never let anyone harm you or our son again.”

Vanya sobbed and flung herself into his arms, breathing in his scent and hugging him tightly, as if it was all a dream that would disappear if she let go. “From now on, you never have to be afraid, Vanya. I will protect you both. No one, not even death, will ever lay a hand on you again!”

Ivar kissed her temple before she pulled back and stared into his eyes, looking for any sign of lies or uncertainty. But she found none; all she saw was honesty and rage. Anger that he let anyone harm them. “You have to swear it, Ivar! Promise me.” She begged desperately, afraid to ever have to fight for her life again.

“I promise and swear on my life and the Gods. I will never, ever let anyone harm you or our son. No matter what it might take to keep you both safe, I will do everything and more to protect you. From now on, you’ll both be safe and sound. I oath not to enter Vallhalla if I break this promise. I swear on my arm ring.”

Vanya leaned against his chest and sighed in satisfaction; with one less problem on her mind, she slept easier. Her son’s absence still plagued her mind, but the sooner everything was done, the sooner she could have him in her arms again. 

The next morning, five days after their son’s birth, they all stood gathered in the Great Hall once again, revealing the plan to Blood Eagle Silas. “And who will do it? Ivar can’t stand.” Sigurd pointed out, making his brother snarl at him.

“It doesn’t matter. We can give him a chair or let someone else do it.” Vanya jumped in before a fight broke out. She was in no mood to watch them argue; the most important thing right now is that Silas dies; it doesn’t matter by whose hand. 

Everyone nodded, looking at the wedded couple glued to each other’s hip. Vanya still looked sick and weak, but the more she clung to Ivar, the straighter her back got, and the higher she held her head. She was gaining back the confidence she gathered during her nine months of marriage to their brother. There were still bits of fear and edginess visible, but with Ivar and Hoenir shadowing her, she breathed easier. 

“You are on edge.” Sigurd pointed out, voicing what everyone was thinking. Vanya locked gaze with him and smiled to reassure them.

“I…” A cry interrupted her sentence; a child was crying somewhere. “I miss my son, that’s all. They still won’t let me see him." 

Aslaug frowned at the information and looked at her youngest son for confirmation. Ivar nodded and took Vanya’s hand in his, trying to comfort his sad wife. The Queen rose from her seat and left the Ragnarssons, Vanya, Torvi, and Hoenir. 

When she returned, it was with the sound of a crying infant. She opened the door with a babe in her arms, cradling it softly, trying to calm it down. "Mother?” Questioned Ubbe, confused, carrying his nephew towards Vanya.

The ginger looked at Aslaug bewildered, as the older woman laid the child into her arms. “You went through hours of horrendous labor and near death for this child. If anyone deserves to hold him, it is you.” Aslaug smiled at Vanya, who hugged her son closer to her, the boy calming down the moment he smelled her scent. 

The child reached out with his little hand and grasped a fiery lock, playing with it while staring up at her, sniffling slightly. Vanya smiled at his teary gaze and wiped his tears, stroking his smooth chubby cheek. “Looks like he just missed his mother. What a surprise from Ivar’s child." 

Aslaug and Vanya frowned at Sigurd’s comment but ignored it as Ivar was too engrossed at looking at the little version of himself in his wife’s arms. "That is the safest child in Kattegat.” Hvitserk pointed out, looking at the calm baby slobbering over Vanya’s hair.

Bjorn snorted and patted Vanya and Ivar on the shoulder. “With a mother ready to burn kingdoms down and a father into ritual sacrifice? It only fits with a grandson of Ragnar Lothbrok." 

The others nodded along while Vanya looked at Ivar with a raised eyebrow. At Ivar’s confused stare, she smiled down at the babe. "Hold your hands out, Ivar. You should hold him too." 

Ivar looked at the frail newborn and shook his head. "I will drop him, Vanya." 

The redhead rolled her eyes and passed the child towards him despite his protests. "You are holding him with your arms, not your legs. Bond with him; he didn’t see that much of you.” She spoke softly, not meaning it in a mean way. 

With tender eyes, Ivar looked at his son, noting the wiggling legs under the fur. He would walk one day, run around just like Ivar’s brothers could. At least in something, the gods were merciful; they listened to his prayers and made his son strong and healthy. Just like his mother prophesied, and his son would be like his grandmother. He would have visions; Hoenir and Aslaug were sure of it. 

“Did you think of a name?” Ubbe asked, watching his serene nephew. 

“Yes. But it’s a surprise.” Vanya revealed giggling at Torvi and Hvitserk, cooing at the babe who frowned at them in return. 

In the heathen culture, nine days after a babe is born, the naming ceremony is held. Vatni using is a ritual where the father acknowledges the child and names it. Ivar sat in a chair with their son on his knee, sprinkling the babe with water. 

“My son, Aros!” He announced to the room while his babe everyone cheered in delight. Ubbe nudged Vanya, who stood next to him, clapping. The redhead looked up at him with a questioning look at the older male's smug look.

“From the river’s mouth? Really?” He asked about the name meaning while Vanya shrugged.

“It fits, does it not?”

“I guess it does.” He looked back towards his little brother, cradling his firstborn lovingly. “Aros Ivarsson.”

After the ceremony, Ivar and Vanya returned to their hut, with Hoenir following behind them. Her husband was about to order some thralls to fill their tub with water when Brynja ran towards them. "Wait, My Prince. Let me do it. I would like to spend some time with Vanya anyway. If you were to permit it.“

Ivar looked at Vanya in question, but the ginger smiled at him reassuringly. "Go. I could use a distraction before tomorrow. And Hoenir will be outside; we will be fine. Have fun with your brothers.” She reassured him, kissing his forehead and sending him off.

The Prince and wanderer left the hut, the girls cold Hoenir sitting outside on the bench, but ignored his presence. Vanya turned on her heel to look at Brynja, who smiled at her softly, her eyes glassy. 

“What’s wrong? Are you unwell?" Vanya frantically ran to the other redhead’s side, pulling her towards the bed to sit down. Brynja laughed at the worried mother and shook her head, her curls bouncing around her.

"I am just happy to see you again. My life would be very boring without you, My Princess." She confessed, hugging Vanya, careful of the sleepy babe in her arms. Vanya embraced the older ginger with her left arm, enjoying the affection Brynja gave her.

The truth is, Brynja is her only true friend here, that she befriended outside of marriage. Of course, Ubbe, Torvi, Hvitserk, and Bjorn are her friends as well. But if it weren’t for her marriage to Ivar, she would have never talked to them. Vanya liked to believe her, and Brynja would be friends even if it weren’t for Ivar. If she ever were to get divorced, Brynja would still be her friend. 

The curly-haired ginger had a pure heart, contagious smile, and shared Vanya’s love for children. She gave the best advice and listened to her complaining without any remarks. For every complaint Vanya told her, Brynja gave two. Servant or not, she was a good girl and an even better friend.

"I bought you a gift!" Brynja cheered, letting Vanya put Aros into his crib. Floki made it for the babe from the boat meant to serve as their coffin if they were found dead. It was quite morbid, but Vanya didn’t mind it that much, and Aros seemed comfortable. 

The Viking girl showed her a present wrapped in a cloth. She laid it on Vanya’s lap and mentioned for her to open it. Brynja was giddy, and in turn, Vanya became giddy as well; she unwrapped the gift and looked inside to see the neckline of a dress. The fabric was blue with white lacings. 

"You bought me a dress?" Vanya asked, confused, looking up at the sheepish ginger.

"Made, actually. It’s not as pretty as the ones you make or the ones you buy. I don’t know how to make dresses like that, so it’s plainer." Brynja apologized, frowning down at the dress, no longer as excited as before.

Vanya shook her head and walked towards the mirror with the gift in hand. Watching herself in the mirror, Vanya marveled at the simple dress. It wasn’t as lavish as the dresses Vanya was used to having, but she liked its look. "It’s beautiful. I bet it’s comfortable as well." She reassured the other female, twirling around with the dress to see it flow in the air.

"I made it for your name day, but I didn’t get to give it to you." With a bashful smile, Brynja watched the Princess gush over the dress. It took her a long time to make the dress, but the smile was worth all her frustration with the fabric. And all the times her father laughed at her pricking her finger. 

Vanya turned on her heel and looked at Brynja, shocked. "You wasted money on me!" She cried out, mortified, the fact that the poor girl bought fabric to create the dress. But Brynja shook her head and shrugged the issue off. 

The young mother carefully set the dress down on the bed and skipped to her wardrobe to look inside. "You must choose one of mine, even if you sell it. I can’t just accept a gift like that and give you nothing in return!”

Brynja shook her head at the frantic Princess and observed her rummaging through all the dresses she owned. "That’s what gifts are for, Vanya. You give them out of love, not expecting anything back.“

"Nonsense!” Vanya fussed and turned towards the other ginger. Brynja’s smile was tired, and her eyes pleading. She didn’t want anything in return, but that didn’t sit with Vanya. "Choose whatever dress you want. If not for yourself, then for me. You gave me a gift out of love. So chose yours.“

Brynja smiled at that and walked to the closet to find a dress for herself. In the end, she chose a purple one with long dark sleeves. "Purple. Like your favorite flowers.”

“You remember?" Brynja blinked at Vanya in astonishment while Vanya mockingly rolled her eyes, smirking.

She circled the older female in front of the mirror and stopped behind her, propping her chin on her shoulder. "Of course, I remember. I always remember small things like that. But don’t ask me anything important. I do forget these things very easily." Brynja chuckled and felt the soft fabric with her fingers, like the feel of it. It was obviously expensive, but the servant wouldn’t complain to Vanya. "How is your father, anyway? Is it better?”

Brynja hummed and laid the dress on the bed, neatly folding it and wrapping it in the cloth from Vanya’s gift. "Stronger every day, which he keeps showing off. I think he fell in love with the neighbor’s window. He keeps running around shirtless and lifting heavy things.“

Vanya laughed at the image of Brynja’s father only in his breeches, smiling every time he sees the widow. "Maybe he is taking the lack of children into his own hands. Trying to create some little ones on his own.”

“Oh, gods! I hope not; he is too old." Brynja gagged and smirked at Vanya, crowding closer and whispering into her ear. "I would rather make some of my own. But there are no men good enough.”

The Princess sighed and sat down on her bed, looking up at the cheeky ginger. "And why are you whispering? Are you afraid that the man outside might hear?“

"I saw his face once, quite handsome. A bath would do him wonders. And new clothes." Brynja confessed, gushing over Hoenir. The seventeen-year-old mother shook her head and teasingly smiled at Brynja.

"My, my, is someone in love?”

“Hush, Vanya! Or I will regret missing you at all!" Brynja joked back, fake glaring at the taller girl, while she laughed it off. It was good to be back and joke around, forgetting what is going to happen tomorrow.

The two girls walked to the door after the bath was prepared, saying goodbye for the night. Vanya watched her go with a small smile, thankful for her visit. She then turned on her heel and sat down next to Hoenir, who looked at her in confusion. 

At least she suspected it to be confusion; it’s hard to tell in the dark when he has his hood on. "I wanted to thank you for the advice you gave me in my dreams.”

“No need to do that. You would have survived anyway; I had a vision of our meeting. It couldn’t happen if you died before we met. My job now is to make certain you don’t die from here on." His voice was smooth, yet a little bit rusty and monotone like always. She wondered if he felt any emotions or just his them pretty well.

"Then I thank you for that instead. But I wish for you to find a hut, not just a bench or a piece of fur outside of ours.”

Hoenir shook his head and looked down at her cold frame. "I need to be near if somebody were to attack you.“

"Ivar will be with me.”

“Doesn’t mean you will be safe.”

Vanya sighed and looked out towards the sleepy streets of Kattegat, smiling softly. "I am safe. I am home, surrounded by friends and family. I have nothing to fear.“

Hoenir scoffed and leaned back, ignoring the persistent ginger by his side. Vanya looked at him, expecting an explanation of his behavior, but he gave her none. "Say what you want to, Hoenir. If we are to spend a lot of time together, you should be able to say what you want to.”

“You are very annoying.”

“I know. Get used to it." She smiled at him cheekily, causing him to shake his head and stand up. Vanya looked at him in confusion till he pointed at a crawling shape in the dark. 

"Your husband’s coming. And I have a hut to find. I don’t want to hear anything I shouldn’t." Vanya nodded, satisfied until the meaning behind the words hit her.

"We wouldn’t if you were outside! That’s so improper!" She scolded him, blushing madly. Did Hoenir really think that she and Ivar would sleep together if he were right outside their door? 

He shrugged his broad shoulders and pulled his cloak tighter around his body. "You never know. I believe I have to take a bath, as well.”

Vanya looked at him, shocked, and blushed even harder. "You heard?“

"Some of it. I am a better listener than a talker. So get used to it as well, Princess.”

“Call me, Vanya. Please.”

“As you wish, Vanya. Goodnight, Sleep well. Both of you." With that, Hoenir sidestepped Ivar on the porch and stalked off towards a random hut, entering it and closing the door behind him.

"Whose hut it that?” She questioned her husband, who watched the wanderer walk off as well. 

“His. Mother gave it to him.” He shrugged, crawling inside with Vanya behind him bewildered. The wretched man had a home all along and stayed in front of their hut instead. She didn’t know if to be moved by his dedication or annoyed by his stubbornness. “Did you take your bath yet?”

“Not yet.” She had her back turned to him while he sat by the tub. She put the dress away and slowly unbraided her hair. “Did you make a decision on who will kill Silas?”

“I will do it. Torvi went into labor. He will be with her, and I will Blood Eagle the little Monster.” Ivar boasted pridefully, making her sigh. 

She brushed through her hair and put the tie that kept it together safely away to find it in the morning. “Let’s hope the Gods are with Torvi, and the child will be born soon.”

“If it’s born sooner, Bjorn can kill your brother in my steed. It should be me killing him! I thought I lost two of the most important people in my life. He didn’t worry about you two as I did!” Ivar complained as he dragged himself towards the fire chairs by the fire and poured himself a cup of ale.

“Ivar.” Vanya scolded, untying the laces of her dress. “Torvi shouldn’t suffer so that Silas can die by your hand. She deserves better.”

“I think so too, but she is the one who married Bjorn." 

Vanya spun on her heel, annoyed by his words. She froze with her mouth open, looking at him sitting there sipping on his cup. He raised his eyebrow at her sudden silence and waited for her mind to start working again.

"Put a shirt on, Ivar! I am trying to scold you!” Ivar smirked at her flustered state and leaned back in the chair, showing off his naked chest.

“Why? Do you not like the view.” He asked cheekily, making her pout and skip over to him. Kissing his lips to wipe the smug look off his face, Vanya pulled back, raising an eyebrow at his satisfied face.

“You are a pain, husband. You are lucky; I love you.”

Ivar grinned at her teasing words and kissed her knuckles, gazing into her steel-blue eyes. “Good. I would be hurt if you didn’t.” Vanya chuckled softly and connected their lips again, enjoying being in Ivar’s arms once again. “What would I be without my Freyja.”

Vanya groaned at his question and slapped his shoulder, pouting. The Ragnarsson frowned at her reaction, hurt by her dismissal. “I used to think you were the cleverest man alive. And here you are calling me a goddess like the rest of them. I am not Freyja or Frigg!”

Vanya stood up from his lap, dropped her dress, and stepped into the wooden bathtub. Ivar shook his head and put his cup down, looking at her seriously. “You are perfect, full of light and love. You love me despite everything I am and didn’t blame me once for your suffering. Vanya, you are my wife, a survivor, and the mother of my child, far more powerful than you believe yourself to be. Min elskede (My beloved), you are either a gift from the Gods or a Goddess yourself, I have no doubts about that.”

Vanya smiled at his loving words, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Do you really think I’m powerful?”

He chuckled at her question and pointed at himself. “I, for one, find you terrifying.” She grinned at the answer and bashfully looked down into the water, trying to hide her blush behind a curtain of red locks. “Who else sees you as a goddess anyway?”

“The people do. And Sigurd as well.”

Ivar frowned at the last part and sourly drank the rest of his ale, while Vanya silently laughed at his jealousy. “He believes me to be a goddess because I endure you. But it’s not such a hard task as everyone makes it out to be. I enjoy your presence quite a bit.” She smirked secretly; her head turned to pick up a cloth to clean herself with. When she turned around, Ivar’s face was close to hers, startling her.

The rag would have hit the floor if it wasn’t for him catching it. The corner of his perfect lips lifted at Vanya’s wide-eyed stare. He seemed like a predator, watching his prey, enjoying every second of the hunt. "I enjoy your presence, as well, obviously.“

"Obviously.” Vanya echoed, hypnotized by his hungry stare, his eyes like a raging storm, pulling her in deeper. She leaned in to connect their lips, but Ivar pulled away and crawled towards the beds to look at their child instead. She scoffed at his teasing and cleaned herself, pouting the whole time.

She expected Ivar to leave her alone after his stunt, but luckily for her, he had other plans. The moment she sat down on their bed, he kissed her and laid her down on the furs, making love to her carefully, in case she was still in pain after giving birth not that long ago.

The next morning, they were woken up by their son, whining in his bed, hungry and rested. They both groaned, exhausted from last night’s lovemaking. Ivar sat up in bed, lifted Aros, and handed him to Vanya so she could nurse their little treasure.

“Silas will be bought to the Hall after our meal,” Ivar informed her, watching her for any sign of hesitancy. But there was none. She decided he deserved to die even before Aros was born, and the fact that he threatened her son’s life was the last nail in his coffin. Silas would die a painful death and burn in Hell for all eternity.

“Then let’s go. The sooner we eat, the sooner this will all be over. And I can gust over Bjorn’s and Torvi’s baby.” Vanya spoke, burping Aros while Ivar got dressed. After he was done, he took the babe from her and allowed her to clothe herself as well.

When she laced up her white dress and braided her hair, she walked towards Ivar and took the babe from his embrace, smoothing down the little hairs on Aros’s head. Ivar picked up his axe and put it on his belt, so he wouldn’t have to return for it later. When Vanya saw this, she frowned. “Wait.”

Ivar looked at her, confused, waiting for her to continue. She laid Aros down on their bed, ensuring he was secure, and walked over to her husband again. She took his axe and trailed her finger to the edge, testing the sharpness. The sharp bite of the blade and the bead of blood that flowed down her finger reassured her that it was indeed ready to be used.

The execution would be smoother this way, which meant the whole ordeal wouldn’t take too long. No matter her hate for Silas, she would hate for him to suffer under a dull blade. He always said he deserved the best; Vanya thought that should include the weapon that would kill him too.

Ivar gazed up at her, not sure to question her behavior or not. She seemed like she was in a trance, too deep in her mind to remember that she wasn’t alone. He softly pried the weapon from her soft fingers and laid it on his lap, taking her hand into his and sucking on the fingertip to stop the bleeding.

Vanya kneeled in front of him and kissed the steel of his weapon, looking up at him pleadingly. “Make him pay. For everything.”

“I will.”

After breakfast, everyone gathered as Floki set up the posts where Silas would kneel. Ubbe walked to her side and tried to pull her back, but she wrenched her arm free and glared up at him.

“You don’t have to be here, Vanya.” Sigurd reminded her from her left, also looking at her with soft eyes like she would brake. As if she was weak, but he was wrong. They were all wrong. Vanya was a survivor, like Ivar said.

The ginger shook her head and mentioned for Brynja to join her. She handed the babe to her and ordered Hoenir to take them to Ivar’s and her hut. “I must be here. I have to see him die. If I don’t, I will never be sure if it’s over or not.”

Ubbe watched her determined face and nodded, Sigurd. On the other hand, they scoffed and walked off, obviously displeased. “What is his problem?” Vanya asked, seeing the Ragnarsson stalk off, muttering under his breath.

Ubbe gave her a wry smile and shook his head. “He believes you to be tainted by Ivar. Sigurd thinks that he is forcing you into this. That he was the one who chose to Blood eagle Silas and not you.”

Vanya scoffed at the explanation and glared at the retreating figure of the snake-eyed Viking. “If anybody deserves to see Silas die, then it’s me. I was the one who spent three days in the middle of nowhere, freezing, bleeding, and starving. Silas made my life a living hell from the moment I can remember. I want him to suffer.”

“I understand that. But Sigurd still sees you as that timid Princess who was forced to marry Ivar. Many of us do, but you have changed. You are stronger than before, more confident as well. But you don’t have to force yourself. You did nearly faint at the mention of blood only nine months ago. No one would blame you if you needed to get some air.”

Vanya smiled up at the worried Ragnarsson and linked her arms with his. “Then would you be so kind as to stand with me and catch me if I do faint? After all, you are my only friend left in the room.”

Ubbe chuckled at that and led her towards a place near the door to have a good view and an escape route. Silas was dragged in by his arms, spitting insults at the men in English, not caring if they understood him or not. He was pulled on top of the podium and chained to the wooden posts, while a chair was positioned behind for Ivar to sit on. The Ragnarsson dragged himself up and sat down, looking for his wife, relieved to see her with Ubbe.

After a nod from her, he raised the axe and cut into Silas’s flesh, a scream echoing around the hall. Vanya watched the display emotionlessly, taking in Silas’s screams. They disgusted her; she wanted to cry but had no tears to shed. It was as if her heart and mind were two different entities, disagreeing with each other about what reaction to give. She hated the sight of blood, hated his screams and pain. But found relief in it.

He was dying in front of her eyes, and she was horrified by the display. But not enough to look away. Ubbe squeezed her hand in a silent question if she was ok. She shrank back but kept looking, cringing from time to time at the violence. This is the last time she would see death; she couldn’t handle so much gore ever again.

“Vanya!” Silas screamed out between his cries for mercy, catching her eye in the crowd. Vanya locked gazes with his pleading one, her eyes cold and empty, a coverup of the turmoil in her core. “Please!”

She shook her head, keeping her head held high, not showing any sign of hesitance or weakness. She wanted Silas to see what he caused in her eyes before he died.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they who mourn,

for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,

for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness,

for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are the merciful,

for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are pure of heart,

for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they shall be called children of God.

Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness,

for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Vanya repeated in her mind, remembering how their mother drilled the words into their minds as children. If Silas is truly a martyr, then he will be reunited with God, which she doubts, but maybe it will give comfort to Silas. The blond King kept screaming as Ivar drew the lungs from his body, putting it on his shoulders, his time on earth coming short. “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” She whispered underneath her breath, seeing the life fade from Silas’s eyes and his head fall.

He was dead.


End file.
